


Skeletons Grow Stronger (When Kept in the Light)

by jovialien



Series: MagicVerse [6]
Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Author needs a Yankpicker, Gen, M/M, Magic, Thank you KISSSHIMALREADY for the Yank advice!, not a high school AU Frank just happens to go there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-16
Updated: 2013-04-08
Packaged: 2017-12-05 11:29:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 33,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/722776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jovialien/pseuds/jovialien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To say Frank has had a shit week would be an understatement, and when he has fantasised about waking up in Gerard's bed in the past this was not exactly what he had in mind.  For starters Mikey isn't usually there with them, let alone any other members of Gerard's family.</p><p>All in all, he's had better weeks.  Worse ones too, maybe, but that's not the point.</p><p>As the past finally catches up to both Frank and Gerard it's time for Frank to find out more about who he truly is and what he can do, and how he can help the dead - assuming they want his help of course - and on top of that carry on with school and life and maybe getting a few hours sleep here and there-</p><p>He's had worse weeks.  But with his own undead stalker around, his boyfriend having trouble dealing with the return of an ex, and his mom having trouble with...  Well, reality really, Frank suspects this is only the beginning of his troubles.</p><p>And boy does he hate it when he's proved right...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  _So I got your message, And it's been a long time,  
>  Since we have spoken face to face,  
> I cant help but question your cause of interest,  
> Just let the dead lay buried in their graves,  
> Why now,  
> When I was feeling just content enough to forget you  
> I've found skeletons grow stronger when kept from the light_
> 
> The Academy Is... Rearview

It's cool in the room, the hazy light of dawn just breaking filtering in through the small window high in the wall and casting an odd light over everything. Frank isn't even sure if he is awake or still asleep or in that strange place halfway between the two, but it's warm and peaceful and safe. He can feel the warmth of Gerard and Mikey next to him, Gerard's leg lazily intertwined with his and Mikey's fingers resting lightly on the hand he has slung over Gee's waist. 

“You did really well Frank. I'm proud of you.”

Frank forces his head up from the pillow enough to see the figure standing against the wall by the doorway, a smile on his face. “Pirate guy.”

“William.”

“Right, yeah.” Rubbing his face, Frank squints at him. “This my dream or yours this time?”

William laughs and shrugs, folding his arms across his chest. “Something between the two I think. I'm a little out of practice and you are a little young, but we seem to be doing reasonably well so far. I think this will work.”

Nodding, then shaking his head, Frank relaxes against the pillow again. “You wanna get less cryptic anytime soon that would be great, thanks.”

“Frank, I wish I could give you more time to rest, to celebrate this moment, but the darkness is not gone yet and there is much to learn. We need to start your training, it is time to tell Linda-”

“What?”

“Your mother, you need to tell her-”

“Seriously, leave her out of this, okay.”

“No, Frank, listen, you need to tell her-”

Everything goes hazy, the room brightening way too fast and making his eyes hurt and Frank isn't sure why he feels so heavy and sleepy, so sleepy, just a few more minutes rest...

The low murmur of a voice, a language he can't understand, and more importantly a voice he doesn't recognise, brings Frank out of his dreams and back to consciousness fast, his eyes opening wide as he gasps- 

Just in time to inhale a lung full of smoke. Coughing, Frank sits up, waving his hand in front of his face even as Mikey just rolls over and rubs his eyes.

“Hey Nonna.”

Nonna?

Scrubbing what feels like a week's worth of grit from his eyes, Frank clutches the covers as he realises they are not alone, a woman leaning over the bed, a cigarette dangling from her lips even as she carries on muttering. Her hands are waving over Gerard, tracing strange patterns in the air, but she spares a grin for Mikey and nods to him.

“Morning Michael. Go get me a twist of sage from the greenhouse will you, and figure out where your mother left the ginseng this time?”

Nodding, Mikey rolls out of the bed and Frank wants to go with him, a little scared by the sight before him. She isn't scary, not exactly, but there's no denying it's an odd sight to wake up too.

The woman is elderly, her hair shockingly white except for a darker curl over her left temple, but her slight frame hints at a deceptive strength. Her hands are calloused and almost as filthy as Gee's normally are but stained with earth and what looks like ash smears instead of ink and paint. Her clothes are mostly simple, dark blue jeans with grass stains on the knees, and a simple black cotton top rolled up around her neck, but her cardigan is a patchwork riot of colours and fabrics, wool mixed with jersey and velvet and corduroy and denim and all sorts. And pockets. So many pockets.

From one of these, she pulls a small bundle of some sort of twigs tied up with string, and lights it from the end of her cigarette, a bright flare of light shining in the room before dying down to form a curl of smoke. Waving this over Gerard, she nods to Frank at last.

“You the boyfriend?”

Snorting, Frank inhales way too much of the smoke and starts coughing again, even as Mikey returns and throws him a knowing grin as he hands her the herbs.

“I... What?”

“Oh don't act so surprised son, you seriously think nobody would notice? He's been glowing for weeks. About time too. And no need to be coy, I've seen far worse in my time than a couple of boys in their pyjamas.” 

This is too much. Frank throws Mikey an exasperated look and Mikey just quirks an eyebrow back. “Nonna, this is Frank. Frank, this is our grandmother.”

“The one with the garden,” Frank blurts out before blushing, forgetting he wasn't supposed to know that.

“He trusted you with the truth then?” She raises and eyebrow and nods once. “Good boy. You'll be the other one who helped with the Bryar Wolf then?” At Frank's hesitant nod, she chuckles to herself. “Hell of a way to find out about all this.”

“Yeah,” Frank agrees quietly, watching as the smoke she is drifting over Gee's body starts to twist of its own accord, wrapping around Gee's stomach before, with a flare, it vanishes completely. “What...”

“Detox,” she explains swiftly, taking a long drag on her cigarette before tapping the ash into one of Gee's discarded mugs. “Gerard is not the first in our family to like things that are bad for him and sadly he won't be the last either. He's still going to have a Hell of a hangover, but at least this way the damage to his liver won't be too bad. He can heal the rest himself later, and then when he's feeling better we are going to have words.”

Frank is still asleep, has to be. 

“How...”

She tucks the fresh sage into one of her pockets and sighs, ruffling Gee's hair and nodding as he stirs at the touch, mumbling slightly in his sleep, but a bit more colour starting to appear. “A grandmother knows. Plus the fellow who owns the liquor store is a very old friend, I bumped into him this morning and he told me he'd seen Gerard last night so I thought I should come over. I would have thought Michael would have called me...” 

Mikey ducks his head, but can't hide the slight grin on his lips as he catches Frank's eyes and Frank quickly thinks to him. 

_*Does she KNOW? About me and my mom?*_

He watches as Mikey shifts his focus to his nan then shakes his head slightly. _*No, you're good*_

“But I see why he didn't,” she carries on, either oblivious to their exchange or ignoring them. For some reason, Frank's money is on ignoring. “If he isn't ready to tell us all he has a new boyfriend I suppose that's his call, but really, you boys do need to learn that you aren't as good at keeping things secret as you think you are.” Gathering up the dirty mugs she sweeps out of the room towards the stairs. “Not until you start doing your own laundry anyway. Michael, make your brother drink that water as soon as he surfaces then finishes throwing up, I'm going to put the tea on.”

Pulling the covers up over his head Frank slides back down into the warmth of the bed and closes his eyes even as he hears Mikey's laughter in his head. His life is seriously fucked up and just when he thinks it can't get any worse he's going to die of embarrassment. Great.

*****************************

Frank isn't trying to creep out. Honestly, he's just being politely quiet. But he isn't quiet enough to escape being seen and is quickly summoned into the kitchen, which looks a little different to how he's seen it before. The room is filled with a light haze, like smoke or steam, but instead of tickling his lungs in the expected way it seems soothing, like inhaling warmth or sunshine or the salt of wind rolling in from the tide. A large old fashioned copper kettle is bubbling merrily away on the gas, creating the haze, and he watches as Gerard and Mikey's grandmother tips it up to pour some of the contents into a mug, a strainer catching what looks like half a bird's nest in the process.

“Here, drink, you look like you could use it. It's a healing tonic, will help knock some of those dark bags out from under your eyes and balance you out again, get your auras back in sync.”

It's not a request and Frank finds himself drinking without even thinking about it, the hot liquid almost scalding his mouth before he coughs and stops to blow on it. It smells wonderful but tastes bitter, sharp and lemony. Gerard's grandmother watches him closely, spotting the way his eyes screw up, and huffs slightly before sliding some honey across the table at him.

“It's an acquired taste. You can sweeten it if you like, just make sure you never use that fake sweetener crap, it reacts badly with the spell and will give you awful wind.”

Frank can't help laughing at that and she chuckles with him before motioning him into a chair and sitting down opposite him, a large mug of her own on the table amongst a mess of scraps of herbs and goodness knows what else.

“It laughs,” she says at last, lighting up another cigarette before offering one to him. Habit forces Frank to refuse, even though his body is longing for it. “Good boy, filthy habit. I'm quitting tomorrow.” Frank sits in silence, sipping the tea and watching her smoke, her gaze meeting his in a way that makes him seriously wonder if Mike's telepathy wasn't inherited straight from her. Only when she stubs out the cigarette in her now empty mug does she speak again.

“I don't know what's going on with you boys, and I don't mean your love life honey, although I must say I'm pleased Gerard managed to pull such a good looking lad,” Frank doesn't blush, nope, no siree, never. It's the tea making him flush, that's all. “But I know my boys and there is something they are keeping to themselves, and when it sends Gerard spiralling again I- Well, I figured it for a lover's tiff or something at first but it's deeper than that, isn't it.”

“I, I don't-”

“You don't have to tell me, and I'm not going to interfere or anything, I don't meddle with my boys' lives-”

“Except for the football team.” Frank winces as soon as he says it, and is relieved when he gets a tight lipped and reluctant smile in return.

“Except for them. That was a mistake though, I should never have done that.” Taking a deep drag off the cigarette she leans forward across the table and looks at him sternly. “Magic has a way of balancing itself out. If you use it for good, for light, to help, heal and protect, or even just without malice and fear it will usually do what you intend. If you use it for evil, for darkness, to hurt or attack or for personal gain, then it has a way of getting out of control and seeking balance in its own unpredictable way. You cannot cause pain without getting some in return.”

“Really?”

Nodding, she smiles a little again, a glint in her eye that reminds him so much of Gerard. “Of course, sometimes it's worth it.”

Laughing, Frank nods and sips the tea again, the heat fading from it quickly and making it bearable now. Taking a larger gulp, he can't help sighing a little as he puts the mug down again, the warmth spreading through him similar to Gerard's touch but from within this time, his own body repairing itself. 

“Drink it whilst it's still warm, the potency fades with the heat.” Obeying, Frank downs the mug and sits up straight again, feeling reinvigorated, like he's slept for a week in the comfiest bed rather than a few snatched hours with Gee's thigh cutting off circulation to his leg. The tension headache that has been lurking behind his eyes has faded, the loss of the ever present pain almost startling, as though he'd forgotten that this was how his body was supposed to feel.

“Thank you,” is all he can say as she takes the mug from him and returns to the kettle, grabbing a large Starbucks Thermos from the counter (which has to be Gee's) and filling it with the tea.

“You are very welcome, now,” she says, sealing the flask and putting it on the table in front of him. “Take that home with you and give some to your mother-”

Frank startles, almost flinching back from the table. Does she know-

“-she will no doubt have been up half the night worrying what you boys have been up to, this should help stop her from clipping you round the ear at least.”

Shaking a little, Frank nods quickly, trying to hide his surprise and stands up. His chair falls backwards with the move and he stumbles trying to right it, then grab the flask and, after trying and failing to put it in his jeans pocket, just holds it.

“Thank you, er, I should-”

“Do you need a ride or are you okay to-”

“I'll walk, I, uh,” Frank forces a grin on his face and tries to look innocent. “Fresh air will do me good. Thanks again!”

Waving goodbye with the flask, Frank backs away towards the hall then hurries out the house as fast as he can – but still nonchalant and cool, of course, the missing the bottom step and almost faceplanting into the ground is intentional, duh – and runs off home.

He doesn't see the boy's Grandmother watching him from the kitchen window, or the small frown on her face as she watches him leave before turning back.

********************************

Gerard is dying. He's sure of it. I mean, he's been close before, he knows the feeling, although he doesn't remember it being so warm last time. Or crampy. Or that just lying still made him so nauseous-

It takes all his energy to roll over and throw up into the bucket, barely noticing as a cold hand strokes his hair back from his face and makes sure he doesn't miss. It feels like everything he's eaten for the past month is rushing out of his body and his brain is growing with every single pulse beat. Breathing is too loud and every cough feels like it's cracking his skull open. As hurling goes, even he knows it's impressive, the sort of thing horror movie directors would spend a fortune on high pressure hoses to recreate.

“Fuck.”

“You're an idiot,” a voice says, familiar and soothing, even as the hand strokes over his back and tries to ease the cramps. “You know that right.”

“Runs in the family.”

Mikey snorts and waits as Gee throws up again before even trying to respond. “Speaking of family-”

Gee groans, empty for now, and grabs the water from the side to swill his mouth out and spit into the bucket. “Mom and dad?”

“Worse, nan.”

Groaning, Gee flops back onto the bed, pale and grey around his eyes as he winces at the light. “Thought I smelt her tea.“

“Yep. Come on, sort out your headache at least and come upstairs, she's not going until she speaks to you.”

“Kill me, it would be the humane thing to do.”

Flicking Gee's temple a touch too violently to be playful, Mikey swings himself off the bed and heads for the stairs as his good mood fades and anger returns. “Finish throwing up, take some pills, and get your sorry ass upstairs. It's gone midday and Charlie isn't the only one pissed with you right now.”

Groaning again, Gerard forces his hands up to his temples and tries to concentrate but everything keeps blurring in and out of focus and moving. And moving. And moving. Everything is moving, the room, his bed, the whole fucking planet is _moving_ and he can feel it. Which doesn't exactly help when he's trying to focus on the colours in his head to try and fix himself up.

Taking a deep breath, Gerard tries to concentrate, but stops as the scent of something familiar tickles through his nose. “Mikey?” He can hear Mikey pause on the stairs, a double thud of his feet returning to look round the corner. “Did... Was Frank...”

“He left a couple of hours ago. But he stayed all night to make sure you were okay, until Nonna kind of chased him off.”

Smiling slightly, Gee focuses on a hazy memory of Frank curled around him, keeping him safe and-

“Oh shit, I threw up in front of him didn't I?”

“Yep. Almost on him from what he tells me. Smooth Gerard, smooth.”

“Aww fuck.” Grabbing the pillow Gee pulls it over his head even as Mikey's reluctant laughter retreats up the stairs.

****************************

“Mom? Mom?” Frank yells as soon as he is through the front door, toeing his sneakers off again and blowing on his fingers to try and warm them up. Seriously, he needs to not run out the door without a jacket again, big mistake. Maybe he needs some sort of go bag, like those FBI teams have on TV shows, or to keep spare clothes at the Way house-

Okay, that is a step _way_ beyond where he is ready for with his relationship with Gee right now.

“Frank?” As his mom appears on the stairs, Frank grins and scurries up the steps to her, putting the flask in her hand and kissing her cheek.

“Morning. Drink that.”

“Frank, what-” Without replying, Frank jumps down the stairs again and heads into the lounge, grabbing his school bag and tipping it out on the floor to find a pen (that works, as opposed to the five he seems to be carrying around that don't), the notebooks he and Gee have been writing back and forth with, and a normal writing pad. Gathering them up, he barrels past his parents and into the kitchen, setting himself up at the table and watching them expectantly as they come in and just stare at him.

“Sit! Mom, drink, it's magic tea, you'll like it.”

“Frank!” His dad grabs the flask and looks at it as though it is dangerous. “Your mother is not going to drink some strange liquid just because you say so, what if it interferes with her meds or has something illegal in it-” He yells as his ex wife grabs the thermos from him and shrugs, pouring some out into a mug and sipping it straight away, wincing as it is slightly too hot still. “Linda!”

“Oh shut up Frank, I'm so drugged up right now that if our son came through the door with a handful of magic beans and said he'd sold the car to get them I'd happily plant them in the back garden and climb the beanstalk with him.” Taking another sip, she winces again. “Bit sour but tastes familiar.”

“Try some sugar,” Frank says quickly, opening up his notebook and scribbling in the corner with his pen, not even looking up as his dad moves to the cupboard. “Real sugar, dad!” 

Frank Sr. stops and puts the sweetener back into the cupboard.

“Where did you get this Frank,” his mother asks at last, wrapping her fingers around the mug and inhaling the soft wisps of steam. “Where have you been?”

“My friend's house, they're a Witch family... thing. I dunno the terms yet, but Gerard's hungo- isn't well and his nan made the tea. It's good stuff.”

“Witches.” His mother shudders but keeps drinking, a determined look coming over her face. “Look, Frank, I know I've been a bit out of it-”

“It's okay Mom, I get it, I haven't exactly been handling this shit well myself,” Frank admits, offering a small grin. “But I, uh, I think it's real and I think it's time I learned more. Especially as...” Sighing, Frank rubs the back of his neck. “There's this guy. Actually I think there's three-”

He ignores the slight squeak of laughter from his dad.

“- I'm sort of seeing this guy, and you can shut the fuck up right now, both of you! Okay, so, I like guys, no big deal, and if either of you try to give me any sort of safe sex and equality talk I will be out of this house so fast there will be, like, those fire trails or dust lines, or that little cartoon outline of me left behind, you know?”

“But, uh, yeah, so I like him, and he's a Witch too, which is how I figured out what was going on. But there's another guy, and he's...” Taking a deep breath, Frank tries to think about how to break this to them gently, with consideration for his Mom's fragile state and the fact that his dad has only had like a week or so to adjust to a whole new way of thinking. He should take his time. Explain slowly. Be careful-

“His ex died and now he's haunting me and I think he might be trying to hurt Gerard,” Frank says in one breath, a rush of words exploding out of him as he gestures wildly, “or, if not exactly hurt him he doesn't seem too bothered about helping him if that makes sense, and I keep seeing a pirate called Billy in my dreams and, I don't know, but he seems to be trying to tell me stuff and I don't know what I'm supposed to be doing about all this and I really need your help Mom.”

Frank Sr. blinks a few times and collapses down into a chair, opening and closing his mouth, trying to ask something then stopping, confused. But his Mom just stares at him, her eyes suddenly clear and considering as she tilts her head to the side.

“William,” she says softly, “don't call him Billy, he doesn't like it. His name is William. Or Bill if you must shorten it.” Sighing fondly she smiles. “And he's not a pirate, he's a Prince.”

Frank has something incredibly intelligent, witty, and to the point in his brain, he's sure, but what comes out of his mouth is-

“Huh?”

“William Beckett, the man in your dreams, he's not really a pirate and he only dresses like that because I wanted him to, there was a whole joke about him being a Prince Charming and I thought Adam Ant instead of Disney and it suited him and just stuck. He's your spirit guide. He was mine when I came of age, he was my mother's before that, and my grandfather's, he has guided the Witches in our family through the generations ever since his own daughter came of age. In life he was a Witch and your great- Great however many Grandfather. And now, he is a spirit guide. And if you are being haunted by a ghost already, then I think it is time to begin your training.”

Silence fills the kitchen like a tangible, living thing, even as Frank slowly starts to smile. His dad is less amused though, his face clouded with concern and fear.

“Linda-”

“Look,” she says with a frustrated sigh, “whilst I can accept that maybe mental illness can be genetic, and even that maybe my obsession with magic could trigger a similar... Hallucination or whatever in Frank, I find it hard to believe that having the same imaginary friend is normal! So, it doesn't make sense that Frank is crazy. In which case he must be a Witch.”

“Which means either I have finally snapped and slipped back into a full on hallucinatory episode and broken with reality or this, _this,_ ” she adds, slapping the table, “is reality and I've been denying it for seventeen years. If this is a dream then it's a damn good one and feels more real than the last few years have and if Frank is in danger here, well, then I choose the dream, I will protect you as best I can. And this time I do it knowing that... That if this _isn't_ real, then maybe I've snapped but the important thing is you are actually safe and trying to bring me back home again and I just have to...”

Her face crumples a little as her former husband wraps an arm around her.

“I'm okay, I am. I've... I've decided. If this is real then this time I am going to do it right. This time we are going to see this through, all the way. No... No more hiding, no more lying to myself, if I'm crazy then I'm going to be crazy all the way!” Taking a deep breath, she nods again,a glint in her eyes. “Frank, get ready to take your notes. It's time for a history lesson.”

********************************

Gerard is so exhausted just by the act of climbing the stairs and not throwing up he almost collapses into the kitchen chair and doesn't even focus on the mug that's placed before him. Usually he would add about half a bowl of sugar to his nan's tea but this time he drinks it straight, the heat almost burning his throat – or it would if it could penetrate what feels like a couple of inches of fur coating his mouth. The splash of water he threw over his face has not woken him up at all but he can only hope he managed to get some of the what looked like mud off the side of his face.

The mug is drained in record time and he nods his thanks as it is refilled, the sound of the water pouring from the kettle letting him know it is almost empty and he isn't getting another. Not that he would be allowed a third anyway; his grandmother has made it clear the tea loses effectiveness the more you take it, and he knows he must have been in a pretty impressive state for her to make it at all. The faint scent of burning on his t-shirt is also a dead giveaway that she was up to something whilst he was still out of it and he is bracing himself for the fall out.

The second mug he cradles in his fingers, enjoying the warmth of it, and using it to stall for time. It doesn't work though, he can feel the intensity of her stare from across the kitchen and eventually he forces himself to look up.

She stares at him before sliding the pack of cigarettes from one of her many pockets across the table to him, an offer he accepts gratefully.

“So,” she says at last, the soft stream of smoke in the air hiding some of the worst of the stench he is pretty sure is coming from his own body. “Were you trying to kill yourself this time, or just blocking something out?”

“What makes you think...” Gerard trails off, her unimpressed look making him hunch down. “I wasn't- I wouldn't do that again. I promised, I would never let it get that bad again, and I won't. I'll get help if it does, I swear.”

The silence drags on until she lets out a sigh, lighting up too and leaning back in her chair. “Well that's something. And as that lovely young man stayed with you all night I'm guessing he's not the one that drove you to do something so completely, unbelievably moronic.” Wincing, Gee hunches down in his chair, feeling like he's five again and has been caught pulling petals off the Echinacea and baking them into mud pies to feed to Mikey.

“Nonna...”

“Don't you Nonna me young man, you drank enough to put yourself in hospital if you weren't so blessed with a body that knows how to take care of you, even if you don't care about it. I've wasted good stock getting you functional again today instead of getting your stomach pumped or on an IV, which believe me, next time you pull this shit I'll let them stick that tube into whatever orifice they like and then bill you for the privilege! You've let down your employer, who only puts up with your shit because of all the free art you give him and the fact that you let him get away with paying you peanuts. But even that won't be enough if you start messing yourself up again.”

Chastened, Gee looks down at the table again. “I'll give Charlie a call and explain-”

“Yes, you will, but that's not the point. Gerard, you have talent, and I'm not just talking about your magic gifts, you could get into an Art College if you tried, or maybe an internship program, you are wasting your life staying here.”

“Mikey-”

“Needed you at first, and we are all very grateful you took care of him, God only knows how he would have coped without you, and if I could have found a way to spare you that burden I would have in a heartbeat sweetheart, but it's over now. You need to start taking care of yourself. Now,” she says, taking a deep drag on her cigarette, “this lovely young man of yours seems like a good start-”

“Oh, God...”

“And if he is not to blame for your state last night, then I have to ask.” Gerard braces himself as she takes a deep breath, her gaze settling on him sternly, bullshit filter firmly in place. “Has something happened to cause this?” Gerard nods slowly, unable to hide the truth. Besides, letting her think that flipping out like he did with no reason at all would be worse, would be a red flag that he is really slipping again. “Is it work?”

“No.”

“Family?”

“No.”

“Your friends?” He nods slowly, dropping his gaze to the table. “Is it a secret?”

“Yes.”

“Is it illegal?”

He looks up too quickly, his head aching as he shakes it before lifting the tea again. “What? No! Nonna-”

“Just checking,” she says quickly, with a small smile. “It's not like I don't have a little experience in hiding certain activities from the law. Some people just spoil things for the rest of us.”

“Oh God-”

“So, it's not illegal, it involves your friends, and is bad enough for you to try to kill off your liver.” Ducking his head, Gerard shrugs, sinking into himself. “Your drinking is going to kill you if you're not careful. Mikey and I won't always be here to help you out, and your magic will only work so long before it backfires, trust me. So,” she sighs, stubbing out her cigarette and starting to sweep the scraps of herbs on the table into a pile, “I need you to swear to me, right now, that whatever it is you're doing and stressing about, as soon as it starts affecting your health again you will talk to someone. Anyone. Doesn't have to be me or your parents, can be anyone you like, but you do not bottle this up again. Agreed?”

Nodding, Gerard stares down at the table as he finishes his cigarette too, watching it stub out and welcoming the slight burn to his fingertip as he presses too hard.

“And one more thing. No drinking alone.”

“Nonna-”

“I mean it Gerard, I've already had a word with James at the liquor store and if you try to buy anything stronger than beer he is going to call me and I swear to God, if you pull this shit again I will come down on you like a ton of bricks. If you won't let us help with the cause of this, we can at least stop some of the symptoms.”

“I'm sorry,” Gerard mutters, eyes fixed on the ashes of his cigarette, then sighs in relief as his grandmother stands up and walks round the table, wrapping herself around him and hugging him tight. She smells like home, the scent of burning herbs and cigarette smoke clinging to her cardigan along with her perfume and mixing into the most familiar and primitive of associations in Gerard and just making him feel at ease again. The smell is home and family and warmth and love and everything good and he just breathes it, breathes her, in, letting the warmth of her embrace soothe him.

“It's okay, Gerard.” Rubbing his back, she rocks him slightly, and it's all he can do not to cry like a baby or give in and tell her everything. About Frank. About Bert. About the guilt he's been carrying around like a stone for the past couple of years. But instead he bites his lip so hard he tastes blood and just swallows hard around the lump in his throat. Not yet. 

As though sensing his resolve, she pulls back at last, stroking his hair as she smiles at him before standing up again. “Now, Michael wants to talk to you, so go see what he wants, and as soon as you are dressed and for God's sake, showered, I want this kitchen cleaned up, understood?” Gathering up the rest of her things, she waves a hand over the copper kettle and mess of scraps on the table. “I have to go see Mr Johnson, he's put his back out again, so I trust you boys will make sure this place is spotless before your mom gets back, understood?”

“Yes Nonna,” Gerard quickly agrees, sliding back from the table even as Mikey looks sheepishly around the edge of the doorframe, his cell phone in his hand. Catching Gee's eye, he motions with his head to get him out of the room and away from their grandmother. Following him quickly, Gerard rubs his eyes and tries to get himself together again as they head down into the basement.

As soon as they are out of earshot Mikey quirks the corner of his mouth up into what, for him, passes for a huge grin. “Frank wants to talk. This afternoon, well, what's left of it.”

Gerard grins back, ignoring the faint roll through his stomach, and nods. “That's... That's great, when is he coming-”

“Not here,” Mikey adds quickly, “and not at his either. Somewhere neutral.”

“Neutral.”

“Uh huh.”

“Neutral like Switzerland? What is this, a fucking peace treaty signing?”

“He did joke about trying Hallowed ground so there's no risk of anyone biting anyone else's head off, but as ghosts actually seem to prefer that, we figured we'd try somewhere a little less clichéd...”

****************************************

Frank isn't sure why he's so nervous as he sits in the coffee shop, his gaze constantly flicking to the doorway then back to the notebook in front of him. It doesn't all make sense, not yet, but it's getting there. If he's honest, he needs to talk to the guys if only to make sure he really hasn't lost his mind – or gotten too much pop culture mixed in with the actual magic.

He has magic. It's still a crazy thing to take in, even more unbelievable than when he found out about magic in the first place and _that_ had involved werewolves, so really, this should be easier to take. Maybe. 

The door opens and this time when he looks up it really is them, Mikey going straight to the counter and talking to his boss, all nods and smiles but Frank frowns as he spots Mikey showing off his hands, even as the others come straight to the table. Bob and Ray flank him, half herding Gerard to sit opposite him, and Frank nods over their shoulders to Mikey.

“What's up with his hands?”

Following his gaze, they frown, Gerard squinting slightly. “Huh, how'd he-” A flush comes over Gerard's face as he turns back, staring at his hands on the table. “I'll fix it for him.”

“Yeah but what's-”

“Don't worry about it,” Ray adds quickly, “we're more interested in-” his voice tails off apologetically but Frank grins at him.

“Me, it's okay, I get it. I'm, uh, I'm sorry I went AWOL for so long, I didn't mean to, there was just a lot to process.”

“It's cool,” Ray says quickly, a slight jump from Gerard making Frank suspect an under the table kick has just taken place. “Isn't it.”

“Yeah, it's cool,” Gerard mutters, looking up at last. His eyes are still a little bloodshot and when Mikey rejoins them with their drinks he takes his but doesn't even sip it, his face definitely a little green around the edges and his hair still damp in places from a shower. 

“Look, I just,” Frank says at last, taking his drink and wrapping his fingers around it, “I wanted to say thanks, for, you know, giving me space. I know I've been a bit of a dick, and that you just wanted to help and I should've called-”

“You don't have to explain anything,” Gerard says quietly, a small smile on his lips, “and, uh, we could've handled it better too. But, um, we're cool now. Right?”

Smiling back, Frank nods, the tight feeling in his stomach fading at last as he feels the edge of Gerard's sneaker press against his own. “Right. Anyway, uh, I needed to speak to you all because- Oh fuck it, because I don't know what I'm doing and I need your help.”

“Just name it,” Bob says easily, “whatever you need.”

“Thanks,” Frank says, letting out a shaky breath and taking a gulp of his coffee at last. “Okay, so, um, to start things off, I'm not sure how much Bob has mentioned about my folks but I figure you deserve to hear it from me. So, to start off, you were right, it's my mom...”

***********************************************

“So you've already seen your spirit guide and interacted with both him and a ghost?” Ray asks, his tea long since gone, but his fingers still playing with his mug. “Dude, that's advanced, you pretty much got the full blast all at once powers! Damn, that's pretty cool.”

“Not always,” Mikey points out, but a slight quirk of his mouth betrays the lack of any real annoyance.

“Well yeah, it's rough, but still, that's pretty cool. And your guide is an ancestor of yours?”

Nodding, Frank flicks through his pad to the right page. “Yeah, William Beckett, from what my Mom says he was a Witch but he was killed by WitchFinders whilst distracting them long enough to let his family escape. He pretty much chose to stay a spirit so he could watch over them, and when his daughter turned seventeen he became her guide, then her daughter's and so on.”

“Awesome.”

“Hopefully. He pretty much watches over the family, warns when there's danger and so on. Mostly.” Shrugging, Frank leans back in his chair. “He can tell you you're making a huge fucking mistake, but he can't stop you doing it. And if you don't want to listen or talk to him, you really don't have to.”

“But if you do...”

“Apparently I need to learn some sort of meditative state thing.” Frank sighs and drops the book back onto the table. “Which is the first thing I need help with. Mom says it's different for everyone, and it's been so long since she's done it she's not sure she can help. So I was wondering if you guys-”

“I can try,” Mikey says quickly, glancing round the table and getting nods. “I have to do it sometimes, when it gets too much. What I've learned might help. Or Ray...”

“True,” Ray nods again, “you've seen me read, it's a bit of a zoned out state, maybe I can help you get that too.”

“I don't think I can help much with that,” Bob admits, “but my folks have some old family texts on magic and I think my great uncle was a medium, maybe we have something in there that will help you out.” 

“That would be cool.” Taking a deep breath, Frank opens the book again. “I also have a slight problem. Now I know I'm seeing the dead, and once I start being able to talk to my guide, I'm gonna- They're gonna sense me and start seeking me out. And whilst I can see them, it's like an instinct, but I don't know how to interact and it, it can be dangerous.”

“How dangerous?” Gerard asks, speaking for the first time since Frank started explaining what he's found out. 

“Pretty dangerous. The ghosts, they,” taking a slow breath, Frank runs a hand through his hair and stares at Gerard. “They are real and they aren't. It's like... For example, Bert. Bert's ghost. The good news is it's not really Bert. As in Bert's soul or spirit or whatever you want isn't condemned to roam the Earth forever, whatever passes for an afterlife or heaven or reincarnation or oblivion or whatever you want, he's there, safe and sound. The bad news is, this ghost, it sort of is Bert too.”

“What?” Gerard says, confused.

“I mean, it's Bert, right?” Frank says quickly. “It looks like him, sounds like him, has his memories and shit, but it's not, how did mom put it... It's like a photograph, right? Or maybe more like a GIF! You know how you get different stories about ghosts, like an image in a window or a figure walking down a corridor and vanishing through a wall, it's not live, it's like a recording of them playing over and over, not learning or growing, just frozen in a moment.”

“Frank...” Ray starts.

“No, I mean, a ghost isn't a person, it isn't a whole life or person, it's them at that _exact moment_ and nothing else. A ghost is like an imprint, a record of them at the moment they died. It is fixated on those moments, those feelings, what it was thinking at that time. But it can't really learn or change or access the full range of emotions and stuff. So if they died afraid the ghost will be afraid too, if they died angry, or confused-”

“So if Bert died angry, hating me, his ghost will hate me too,” Gerard sighs softly, rubbing a hand over his face.

“It's not... It's not that simple. You can hate and love someone at the same time,” Frank points out, “and Bert is not just an image. Mom says most ghosts are very flat because they don't believe they can exist so they don't, it's the ones who die with unfinished business, who want to stay, that form full ghosts. Bert knew about magic so was more open to the possibility of staying and, I don't know, he didn't want to go.”

“Oh.”

“But the rest of him went... wherever the rest of people go, and to get this ghost of him to go we have to, like, forward him on.”

“Forward him?” Ray says, tapping the table. “Like an email?”

“More like a letter, we need to send him on to the rest of him.”

“Okay,” Mikey says slowly, “so ghosts can be forwarded on to where they are supposed to be, you said something about danger?”

Frank hesitates, looking at his empty mug. “I could do with a refill-”

“Frank,” Gerard says quickly, staring at him. “Why is it dangerous?”

“They don't mean to do it, at least I don't think so-” Frank pauses. “You can get possessed by ghosts. To talk to them properly I have to leave myself open and sometimes they can- They can slip inside, like a virus or something. Or if... If you get too close to death in the presence of a ghost it's like they can get caught in the current and get dragged into you. Last night, William was trying to warn me about that, you were, um-”

“If Frank hadn't been there to take care of you you probably would've choked to death on your own puke,” Mikey says sharply, blunt as Hell. “You can heal a wound all you like, but I'm betting even you couldn't do anything about clearing your airway before you died.”

“I didn't-” Gerard pales, shaking his head. “I wasn't trying to- Mikey I swear, I wasn't.”

“I know,” Mikey says tiredly, rubbing his hands over his face then wincing. “But it was stupid and dangerous all the same.”

“It might not all have been Gerard's fault,” Frank admits quietly, shrinking a little as they all focus on him. “Ghosts, they uh, they fixate on things that are familiar to them, their remains for one, a familiar place, and... and people. People they know. For some ghosts, when they hang around because they want to just watch over their family, it's a comfort, a feeling of peace, or when it's an angry ghost that's haunting a house or some shit, they can cause fear, but others...”

Frank flips through the notebook, although more to stall for time than to find any notes, because he knows he didn't write this bit down, the words committing themselves to memory all too well. “They don't mean to, but sometimes they just can't move on, they don't want to leave some, uh, someone behind, so they stay. But because they aren't complete they can't see they are doing harm, instead of wanting to be alive instead they can want the living person to be dead and join them. And that mood can spread.”

There is silence around the table, a stillness that Frank wishes wasn't there, that he hadn't said anything.

“We're Witches,” Ray says at last, “surely if anyone would know a ghost was, I dunno, around us, we would? And Gee is a defender, he is immune to most magic-”

“But not all,” Gerard fidgets as he speaks, considering, “and not all the time. Even Mikey can read me if I let my guard down. And when Bert died I was still really new, I didn't know how to control it.” Taking a deep breath, he blows it out slowly. “But I don't think that was it. I kindof wish I could, that I could blame everything I did back then on being haunted or some shit, but it didn't... It was all the time, wherever I was, it was a part of me. I was depressed and messed up as Hell, but it felt like me, it didn't feel magical at all. Ever.”

“What about last night?”

Shrugging, Gerard fiddles with his mug. “I was stupid, and low, but I swear, I wasn't suicidal, I just wanted to get out of my head for a bit.”

“I know that feeling,” Frank admits, a small smile quirking at his lips that Gee mirrors. “But what I'm saying is that ghosts can be dangerous, even when you don't realise they're there. And once they start knowing I'm here I might... It might get weird, for those around me too. To stay safe I need William to guide me, to help me stay me and watch my back, basically be my spiritual bouncer, and to learn how to contact him properly I'm gonna need you guys to help me.”

“Anything you need, Frank,” Bob says easily, “just say the word. Not like you haven't helped me out with practice enough times.”

“And me,” Ray grins.

“Me too,” Mikey adds.

Gerard just smiles, a little awkward, the things hanging unsaid between them filling the spaces until with a sharp blow of air, Frank nods, breaking the moment.

“Cool. Oh, and just one thing, on top of all this I gotta go back to school on Monday and I'm gonna have a shitload of catching up to do, so,” he looks round the table with a grin. “In addition to helping me become the most kickass medium of all time, who wants to help me pass Bio?”


	2. Chapter 2

Frank will pass bio, eventually, in fact he doesn't really mess up any of his classes (despite getting the lowest ever score on a History pop quiz) but that doesn't matter right now. Right now, it feels like school is the second hardest thing in the world, his mind aching with trying to keep in all the crap his teachers try to force in alongside all the magic stuff he is trying to learn too. The week off hasn't helped, even if he did mostly keep up with things, but he might be okay, he might get through it.

Except he keeps getting distracted.

She is just a figure in the background at first, just hovering behind the crowd or on the staircase, but when she starts showing up in his classes it gets creepy real fast. He doesn't know who she is, she doesn't speak or do anything threatening, but she's following him.

She's his first new ghost and she is creeping him out big time.

Her clothes are old fashioned, maybe sixties or seventies, and her hair is stiffly styled in waves on her head. She doesn't do much, just walk around, a small smile on her face, so it isn't threatening exactly. It is creepy though, her eyes a washed out grey that if he looks into them feel like they are somehow pulling him in. Her gaze is unwavering, the dead apparently not needing to blink any more, and it is really disturbing.

At first he just sees her in the distance, but midway through the week he is hanging around out the back of the drama hall when she suddenly appears and walks right through him and into the hall. It's so cold, chilling him right to the bone and making his lungs sting, and he can't help the coughing fit that takes over him. Nick is rubbing his back quickly, asking him if he's okay, still believing that Frank has been off all week with a bad chest, but Mikey is wide eyed and hovering, almost frozen in place.

_*Frank, what-*_

_*She walked right through me! A ghost, she's in the hall.*_

_*Should I get help? Gee-*_

Waving his hand quickly, Frank straightens up, the coughing easing as he gets his breathing back under control. “I'm okay,” he says quickly, answering Nick but addressing Mikey, nodding slowly. “I'm fine, it's nothing.” Mikey's eyes keep flicking towards the hall and Frank smiles slightly as Brendon digs through his bag for some water. “Really. Had worse, I'm cool.” Nevertheless, he accepts the water from Brendon with a grateful nod and downs half of it in one, accepting their concern and worry with good grace.

As soon as they have a chance to be alone again, Nick and Brendon hurrying off to get Frank some more water from the fountain, Mikey wraps an arm around him, tugging him close. “You really okay?”

“Yeah, I guess, just so damn cold,” Frank shivers, accepting the embrace easily, exhausted yet again and really getting fed up with that shit. “I guess that's one of the risks mom was talking about, huh?”

“I can get Gerard, he might be able to-”

“I said no.” Taking a deep breath, Frank forces it out slowly. “I gotta learn how to deal with this, I just, I didn't think it would be here, so soon, y'know? Thought I'd have more time.” Coughing again, Frank shakes his head. “I think... I think we need to start those lessons. Soon.”

Nodding, Mikey strokes his hand up and down Frank's back and wishes he knew what to say, how to help with this, that Gerard was here instead. “We can start tonight if you want, Gee isn't working and I'm free. We'll figure it out. It's gonna be okay.”

* _Liar_ *

Chuckling slightly, Mikey shrugs. “How about we will do whatever it takes to get you through this?”

“Better.” Sighing deeply, Frank straightens up and adjusts his bag on his shoulder as the others return. “Not like I've got much choice in the matter really.”

“That makes five of us.”

************************************

Bob digs through the heavy chest in the basement, pulling aside the chains and nets, and digging his way down to the lower layers. The box in the bottom is heavy and scratched and half covered in the coarse black and grey hairs of the Werewolf, the fur sticking to the card and making Bob glare at it. It comes loose from the chest with an effort, the box whacking into his stomach as he pulls it out and pulls the lid off, digging through it. 

The old books are handwritten, not exactly the sort of thing that you would get on Amazon, and the pages are yellowed with age and the spine well worn and cracked. Flicking through them, Bob looks for the texts about magic and the family history, running his hands over the books as he searches for the right ones. He catches a whiff of that “old book smell”, and contemplates rubbing his nose against one of the pages to get acquainted with that faint musky aroma of honey. However, he refrains, knowing this will only add a blemish to his Quest of Non-Gerard-like Behavior. 

Picking them out at last, he puts them to one side and repacks the chest, tossing the equipment back in in a way that looks haphazard but is actually so that the most serious stuff is on the top, ready to grab in an emergency.

He hasn't read the books in years, not since he was a kid really and still trying to absorb everything he could about his culture and wondering what he would become when he got his powers. After they came in, his focus had zoned in only on telekinesis, trying to figure out how to manage his skills, but he's sure there was a couple of sections on mediums in there. 

“Bob?” Tucking the books under his arm, Bob locks up the chest and stands, heading for the stairs.

“Down here.”

His dad hesitates at the top of the stairs, never keen on being down in the basement unless he has to be, and waits as Bob climbs up to meet him. “What are you doing?”

“Research.” Bob gestures to the books and shrugs. “Just checking out a few things.”

“Anything we can help with?”

Smiling casually, Bob shakes his head. “Nope. Just checking on something with the guys.”

“Anything we should worry about?”

Bob pauses, thinking about it seriously. That's the thing about his folks, they aren't quite as 'in' with the collective as other families and if he asked them to keep Frank a secret they would, but still...

“Not yet. I'll let you know if you should.” Giving his dad a grin, he carries on up to his room and flops down on his bed with the books. Hopefully he should be able to find something to help Frank out, even if he can't help with all the meditation type stuff. 

He just hopes someone else can instead.

*********************************

Mikey is nervous as he walks into the haunted house, bundled up in his coat and carrying a small roll of blankets and a flask of hot coffee for later. Goodness knows how long this will take, or how cold the room will be with them sitting still, but it's the quietest place he knows, the most peaceful, and right now they need that.

Frank shuffles through the doorway behind him, stamping his feet on the step and hunching deeper into his jacket as he follows Mikey up the stairs. The house creaks but not in a threatening way, more like it's welcoming them back, and Mikey takes a moment to just listen to the soft thud of their boots on the stairs, the gentle hum of Frank's thoughts behind him, the reassuring blankness that is Gerard outside in the car. The heat will be cranked up, waiting for them when they are done, and the radio blasting, but for all Gerard will act as though he's just been sitting there reading or drawing in his pad, he will actually be watching the house like a hawk, listening and just waiting for any sign of trouble.

Not that they expect any, but Mikey's never done this before, never tried to teach or guide someone else, Hell, he has barely even got his own powers under control let alone tried to work on anyone else's. They don't even know what help Gerard could be if something goes wrong, but with Bert on the scene it's better safe than sorry.

It doesn't take long to settle down on the floor, cross legged and face to face, the fading and hazy winter light through the windows making the room seem colder than it is. The blanket under their legs cuts down on the chill a little but their breaths emerge as a white cloud as Mikey arranges them, making sure Frank is comfortable and breathing steadily before beginning.

The touch of their minds is gentle, guiding, Mikey's hands holding Frank's lightly, as he tries to get him to breathe, to focus. Most importantly of all, Frank needs to let go.

Or at least stop fidgeting...

*********************************************************

“This isn't working.”

Frank sighs in relief, letting go of Mikey's hands and shoving them deep into his pockets to try and get some feeling back into them. “Could've told you that an hour ago.”

“In a manner of speaking, you did.” Stretching out his muscles and rolling his neck, Mikey shivers and reaches for the flask, pouring out two cups of coffee and handing one to Frank. As they sip, letting it warm them, Mikey shrugs. “I dunno, maybe it takes time to pick up, or maybe I'm trying to show you wrong.”

“Or maybe omm and deep breathing isn't gonna do it for me.” Frank curls his body up around the cup, feeling the sting of the warmth against his cold fingers. “Too fucking quiet in here.”

Mikey considers him for a long moment, just watching, before he speaks again. “You managed it before. Contacting your guide I mean. How did it happen?”

Frank thinks about it, considering the slight drift of steam off the cup. “Just happened. First time was... in a nightclub, I went out for a cigarette and there he was. Since then, just in dreams.”

“So you were what, pretty relaxed?”

“I was unconscious, so yeah, don't really get much more relaxed-”

“No, in the club, were you drunk or anything?”

Shaking his head, Frank laughs. “Underage, remember? Wasn't gonna risk that, just wanted to chill out and dance for a bit.”

“Chill out. Did you take anything?”

“Hell no, not in that place, I didn't need to get high, I just wanted to dance.” 

Frank can see Mikey is deep in thought so leaves him to it, focusing instead on his coffee. And the constant creak of the house around him. Seriously, the countryside is so noisy! Every time Mikey tried to get him to relax there would be some noise or animal or some shit – not to mention, his own thoughts going round and round his head. Every time he tried to calm down the sense of urgency would return; he needed to get this, to learn it, if he could get it right he could protect Gerard from Bert, or maybe find a way to get rid of him entirely, and if the WitchFinders came again, or if anyone tried to get to his mom, William could help but only if he found a way to talk to him-

“Right, that's it.” Frank startles as Mikey drains his cup and slams the lid back on the flask. “Up. Come on.”

Obeying, Frank hastily drinks his coffee and tosses the cup back into the bag before helping Mikey bundle up the blanket and bundle it over his shoulder. “Mikey-”

“Come on.” Frank frowns as he follows Mikey back out of the house, pulling the heavy door closed behind them, and heading back to the car. Mikey all but throws Frank into the back seat before going into the passenger seat beside Gee.

“How'd it go?” Gerard asks hopefully, his smile dropping as he takes in the frustrated looks on their faces. “Oh. So where-”

“Nowhere, we're staying right here.” Mikey fiddles with the music, turning it up louder and throws the blanket back over Frank even though the glorious heat from the car is warming him nicely. “Gee, cigarette.”

“Mikey-”

“For Frank.”

“Oh.” Confused, Gerard hands over the pack and lighter and Frank lights up hesitantly, then sighs as a little bit of tension he hadn't even realised was there fades. He's warm, the nicotine helps, and the music's so loud he can barely hear their voices let alone any of his own thoughts in his head.

With a small smile, Mikey nods, then twists in his seat to reach through the gap between them to Frank. “Better?”

Shrugging, Frank nods. “Yeah but what about the practice, shouldn't we-”

“Frank, just shut up and chill. Okay?”

“Oh-kaaaaaay.”

“Close your eyes.”

Snorting, Frank grins. “Last time someone said that to me in the back seat of a car I ended up with-”

“Frank!” Gerard blushes bright red and Frank can't help laughing. It feels surprisingly good, the break from his lesson nice, but still, the tension remains; they don't really have time for this, do they?

“Frank, just close your eyes and shut the fuck up.” Mikey is firm and Frank obeys, breathing deeper instinctively as the light fades and the beat of the music starts to embed itself in his bones. 

It feels good, pushing out the noise and worry in his head, the familiar notes and beat soothing, and he finds himself automatically picking out the guitar parts and drum beats. The gentle brush of Mikey's mind against his is unexpected but not jarring, instead like the bass of the song drifting in alongside the rest of it, subtle and not really noticeable but there all the same. 

* _Mikey?*_

_*Just relax. I wanna try something.*_

It's not the first time he's heard that, but he trusts Mikey and lets the gentle stroke of his mind settle in, finding the memory of William and bringing it into focus. It's hazy, like the smoke of his cigarette as he continues to wear it down, ash falling unnoticed on his lap. Even with his eyes closed, Frank can see around him, Gerard watching with interest from the driver's seat, Mikey in the passenger seat with his eyes closed too, William in the back with him-

“Oh, fuck!”

“Nice to see you again too, Frank.”

Frank tries not to fight it, to stay relaxed, but it's hard, he hadn't even noticed when William arrived but he's definitely there, still dressed in his piratical costume and his long hair cascading over his white shirt that is way too thin for the weather. The others haven't reacted to William's presence, their focus still on Frank, but when he opens his eyes again he can still see William there too, even as Mikey's touch withdraws slowly.

“It worked,” Mikey states simply, opening his eyes and glancing around the car but not focusing on William at all, passing blindly over the spot where he sits.

“No shit,” Frank agrees, coughing a little on the cigarette even as Gerard drops the volume on the music, just enough to be able to hear each other without shouting. “What did you do?”

“Not everyone relaxes the same way Frank. I hear noise all the time so want silence, you, you just want the right kind of noise.”

“Heavy Metal?”

“To each their own.”

Grinning, Frank returns his attention to William, watching as he turns a little translucent then sharpens again. “So if I want to see William I need to what, stick on some Iron Maiden?”

“It's more the state of mind Frank,” William says quickly, nodding towards the stereo. “It really doesn't have to be this... noise, you just need to be thinking of me and focused. It becomes easier with time, but as your companion has so intelligently suggested, if music is what helps you to achieve that state for now, it may be what you need. Contacting you through your dreams requires a great deal of energy for you and is rather draining for me, so I would prefer to avoid it if I can. Not to mention it never lasts very long as as soon as I initiate contact you will start to rouse.”

“Oh. So, uh, what happens now?”

Frank frowns as William starts to fade, feeling a growing tiredness in his body that matches the waning image. “Practice,” William says faintly, “it requires a lot of energy at first, you are using a new muscle and must develop it, break it in, but I am always with you, you just need to call me.”

“Wait, I-” Frank tries to recapture the relaxed feeling but is suddenly too tired, his body slumping in the seat and almost burning himself as he lets his cigarette drop to the floor. “Oh, shit-” Gerard reacts quicker, a small flicker of his shields around the cigarette protecting the carpet from it long enough for Frank to get to it. “Thanks.” By the time he looks up, William is gone completely, and it's all Frank can do to keep his eyes open as he collapses back into the seat. “Damn.”

“Well done Frank,” Gerard grins, reaching over to grab his hand, holding it tight. “You did great!”

“Yeah,” Mikey agrees, looking tired too, but a look of quiet triumph on his face. “Good work.”

“Fucking great call on the music,” Frank says gratefully, rubbing his hands over his face before flicking the last stub of the smoke out the window. “I owe you one.”

“You've had sex with my brother, in my house, you owe me more than one,” Mikey mutters before turning back to face the front. “Come on Gee, take us home.”

******************************************

Ray doesn't even notice the buzz of his folks getting home, or the noise of them carrying bags upstairs and settling in, but the creak of the ladder up into the attic gets his attention. “Ray?”

“Up here Dad.”

There's a slight curse as his dad emerges into the attic, grinning at the cape, before coming up fully and following the flicker of candlelight into Ray's corner. Without a word, his dad drops down onto one of the bean bags and looks at the stack of Tarot cards half spread over the table and half on the floor, the lone candle flickering over Ray's crystal ball and Ray himself.

“Something troubling you, or just practice?”

Shrugging, Ray traces his fingertips over the ball and tries to think of what to say. His dad stays silent, just watching, not pushing but ready to listen to whatever he has to say. “Mostly practice, I guess, I just- I've got this friend-”

“Dad! Where's my bag?”

Sighing, Mr Toro leans over towards the hatch and raises his voice. “Wherever you left it, I'm not your servant!”

“Dad-”

“Just sort it yourself, okay?”

Turning back to Ray, he smiles apologetically and nods at him to continue. “A friend, a friend who...”

“I've been trying to read him, but his future keeps... shifting. I never know what's right, I figured none of it was, but then something came true and now... Now I don't know what else might happen and some of what I've seen is-” Ray breaks off, dropping his gaze.

“Can you tell me the details?”

“Uh, I...”

“Let me guess, you've seen bad things in his future and you don't know how to help him prevent them. Or if it's even possible to avoid them.”

“That obvious, huh? You sure there's no telepathy in the family?”

Laughing, a joyful belly laugh that makes Ray smile in spite of himself, his dad leans over the table and ruffles his hair. “Since when did I need telepathy to know my own son. Ray, you're a great kid- man, a good man, and I know you. If someone is in trouble you'd want to help them, so of course if you've seen something it's going to weigh on your mind. But that doesn't mean it's up to you to save them. Sometimes things have to happen the way they happen, there's no way to stop it.”

“I guess, but if I could-”

“Of course you can try, I wouldn't expect anything else from you, but what I mean is not to blame yourself if you can't. It's like...” His dad pauses, thinking. “If a doctor said you were sick, that you were going to get really sick and there was a chance you would die, would it be his fault if you did die?”

“No, course not, but-”

“But if a doctor said, if you carry on... I don't know, if you carry on smoking you are at a higher risk of cancer, whose fault would it be if you carried on smoking and then died?”

“My fault-”

“And if you stopped smoking, who would be congratulated for it?”

Ray frowns, confused, “me I guess, but what-”

“A doctor does his job,” his dad continues, “he sees what is likely to happen, can warn of the dangers ahead, can help you prepare for it, but it's up to the patient to deal with it, whatever it may be. Your friend, have you told him all of your visions about him?”

“Most,” Ray admits, “a couple of recent ones I haven't had the chance yet, I'm not sure what I've seen myself yet, let alone be able to put it into words, but there are so many and they contradict, so how can he possibly know what to do?”

“How do any of us?” Taking Ray's hand, his dad sighs. “Look, son, as proud of you as your mother and I are, and don't get me wrong, we are so, so proud of what you can do, it's also terrifying. The things you see all the time, it's... We don't know how to deal with it, your powers are so different to anyone else in the family and I wish we could do more to help you, and we will do everything we can, and if you need help with your visions we can try and find another seer to help you out-”

“No, it's cool, I'm okay, you've done more than enough.”

“Your friend, you're going to stand by him whatever happens?”

“'Course.”

“And if there is anything you can warn him about in time, anything you can watch out for, you will.”

“Yeah, always.”

“Then there's not much more anyone could ask of you. You are a good friend and I know you will help him. And you know that whatever happens, whatever help you need, we will be here for you too. All you have to do is ask, you know that right?”

“Sure.”

“Good.” Patting his son's hand, his dad nods and leans over to blow out the candle, trying to stand up from the bean bag and failing. “Ah, dammit.” With a flash, a box from the corner of the room appears behind him, letting him pry himself up from the seat. “Better. Bean bags, they were much easier to get on from when I was your age, must be less beans in them now or something.”

“Or you're just getting old,” Ray jokes, ducking the clip round his head and focusing on getting out from behind the boxes before succumbing to the arm around his shoulders. “Thanks, dad.”

“Anytime son. I mean it. And if you want to talk details at some point, just let me or your mother know, okay? Or if it's too personal, you know anyone from the Collective will help-” Ray can't help the slight shudder that runs through him and his dad pauses. “Ray...”

Ducking out from under the arm, Ray quickly heads for the ladder. “Thanks dad,” he calls back, quickly scrambling down it and hurrying to his room, ignoring the sound of his dad following down the ladder. He can't talk about it, not yet, can't risk the Collective getting involved. Can't risk letting them know about Frank.

Can't risk what he's seen coming true.

**********************************************

Gerard drops Mikey off first, a quick stroke of healing energy to his head helping to stave off the worst of the migraine long enough for him to go to bed, then Frank moves into the passenger seat and they head for his place. Gerard can feel how tired Frank is, the aches in his body, and itches with the need to help him but doesn't dare, not without permission. They haven't been alone together (whilst conscious anyway) since that night, since they found out about Frank's powers, and it hurts not to touch him, not to be able to just reach out, the tension and distance between them too great and yet nothing at all.

It's not until he pulls up, parking the car just up the street from Frank's house, that he dares to even look at Frank beside him.

Frank's watching him closely, curled up against the door and staring across the car with dark eyes, his hands tucked tight under his arms. The silence drags out between them, until finally Frank sighs and rubs his hands over his eyes tiredly. “So, I guess we need to talk.”

Nodding slowly, Gerard drags his gaze to his hands on the steering wheel, his knuckles white from gripping it so hard. Talk. Yeah, they need to do that.

“I get that this has gotta be hard, with all the talk of Bert, I don't- I don't even know where to begin understanding that and how you gotta be feeling, so if you wanna take a break or something I get it, it's cool. But if this isn't about Bert, if there's something else on your mind, I need- Fuck it, I deserve to know what's going on in that messed up head of yours Gee.”

“Frank,” Gerard sighs softly, still looking at his hands. “I... Magic is powerful stuff.”

Frank hesitates, as though waiting for an explanation, but when one doesn't come he huffs impatiently and makes a 'more' gesture with his hand, nodding at Gerard.

“I mean it, it can work in strange ways and you don't always know it's acting on you at the time. Especially if you aren't used to it.”

“So?”

“So...” Gerard starts, unsure how to broach this. It's not like magic has an equivalent of rohypnol or anything like that, but still, it's potent and- “So it might be that you and me, it's not- It might just be the magic you see in me, not, y'know, me. I mean, pulling us together, it happens, and I was the first Witch you met and maybe, maybe-”

He knows he's not making much sense, confusion evident on Frank's face, but he takes a deep breath and tries to get it out. “Maybe you don't really want me, it's just like a spell or something, and it will wear off, and I don't want to make you do anything you don't really want to, so maybe we should call it a day and let you adjust to your magic and-”

He stops, vaguely aware that Frank is shaking beside him, and forces himself to look, expecting him to be upset or something, maybe. What he's not expecting is the look of complete rage he gets.

“No.”

“What?”

“No, Gerard, _no_!” Frank yells, almost diving out of the passenger seat to lean over into Gerard's space, poking into his chest with one finger. “I've had a shit couple of weeks, so have you, but you don't get to pull this crap, you don't get to sit there and wind yourself up making out that, that what? That I don't know how I fucking feel about you? That I'm being driven by magic or fate or some predestination bullshit, that it's not really me and I don't know what I'm doing? Well, forget it.”

“Frank-”

“I mean it, I don't care, I don't care about your theories and coven crap, I don't care if John Connor appears naked in a ball of light and says we have to be together to save humanity, or Obi Wanking Obi turns up and says you've gotta go to the Dagobah system and leave me behind and we can't be together, it doesn't matter.” 

“You listen to me, once and for all, motherfucker. I don't love you because of your magic. I don't love you in spite of your magic. I don't love you because of my magic, or some spell, I. Love. You. Just you, you little freak, and I am sick to death of you questioning that or acting like you don't deserve it, you don't get to choose how or why or who falls in love with you Gee, and you know what, maybe you don't deserve me, and maybe I don't deserve you, and maybe this is all gonna go to Hell in a handbasket but I don't care. I want you, I love you, so deal with it. You don't love me, that's your call, but you don't get to decide how I feel about you, ever. So stop it, right now.”

“Say... Say that again.”

“What,” Frank asks, his hand flattening over Gerard's chest, “that you're a dumbass who needs to stop telling me what's going on in my own fucking head?”

“No,” Gerard whispers, placing his hand over Frank's, “the bit with the love part in it.”

“I... I love you.” Frank hesitates, dropping his gaze. “And I don't care if you don't-”

“I love you too.”

“Oh thank God, 'cause the way you've been going on-”

“No, Frank, no, I didn't- I love you.”

Frank grins, his whole face lighting up as he leans over Gerard, kneeling in what has to be a pretty uncomfortable position on the passenger seat, and slides his other hand up to wrap around Gerard's neck. “So. You still want me then? I'm not just a rebound or someth-”

Gerard stops that train of thought the only way he can, by lunging up into a kiss, his arm wrapping around Frank and pulling him closer, ignoring the slight oof of surprise Frank makes and the hard press of the hand on his chest. It's desperate and hard and too much and not enough and he can feel the hard press of Frank's body against his, too much weight and pressure, and he grins as Frank shifts, as though trying to climb into his lap-

The beep of the horn is shockingly loud and makes them both freeze, Frank pulling his elbow back from the steering wheel in shock. The tension breaks as fast as it came, both of them collapsing into giggles and a boneless heap in the front of the car, Frank shushing him quickly as he glances round, seeing if any of the neighbours have noticed. Clambering back into his own seat, Frank's giggles fill the car as he tries to calm down but Gerard doesn't even try, the laughter such a strange feeling but so welcome, something he's been missing but hadn't even realised wasn't there.

Sighing, Frank runs a hand over his face as his laughter subsides and looks over at Gerard again. “I should get going before the neighbors get too nosey. But this is to be continued, right?”

Gerard grins, nodding before leaning over to kiss Frank again, more gently this time, just melting into him and seriously, how could he ever have doubted this? What he feels, what this is, it has to be more than just coincidence or a spell. It's real, it has to be. What he felt with Bert, it was amazing, and he wouldn't have traded it, but compared to this...

“Soon,” Gerard gasps at last as the kiss breaks, Frank pulling back with a visible effort. “Right?”

“Fuck yeah.” Wrapping his hand around Gee's neck, Frank pulls him closer, resting their foreheads together. “I know it's gonna be hard getting any time, what with training and school and shit, but we'll figure it out. Just... Stay with me.”

Swallowing hard, Gerard nods. “Always.”

Grinning, Frank pulls back and places one last chaste kiss on Gerard's forehead. “Careful what you promise babe, I'm a medium remember?”

Laughing, Gerard slides one hand along Frank's spine. “And give up all this? I'm in no hurry.”

“Good.” Licking his lips Frank slides back across the seat with a soft growl and opens the door. “I'll see you Friday if not before.”

“Looking forward to it.”

“So much,” Frank agrees before forcing himself out of the car with an effort and half running down the street as though afraid if he hesitates he won't go.

Gerard watches him go, waiting until he gets inside, then melts back into his seat with what he's sure if the goofiest smile on his face.

“He loves me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note to say that beyond the very basic bio stuff online I know nothing about the boys families (and am sure as Hell not going to go looking) so just to emphasise this is AU and please accept/forgive any errors from RL. :)


	3. Chapter 3

Frank practises every night before bed, lying there in the dark with his headphones on, just trying to think of William but it is hazy and he's so tired he usually falls asleep just as it starts to work. Promising himself he'll try harder at the weekend, after maybe a day or two of sleep, Frank lets himself drift off and tries not to worry about it. It's hard, the pressure on him growing as he thinks of Bert's ghost, of what influence he may be having, of the fear of running into the girl from the drama hall and maybe not being able to breathe again. 

His mom is back at work at least, his dad also dragged back to his own home by the call of the office and the threat of losing his job. It hurts, having him gone again, especially now it feels like there is some progress, some explanation for the huge mess that is his childhood, but more scary is how quickly he doesn't even really remember what it's like having his dad there. It's been him and his mom for so long now, it doesn't really matter.

By the time Friday rolls around, Frank is almost asleep in class, drifting in that almost painful place of struggling to stay awake, his eyes closing of their own accord before jerking himself awake again. Nick is taking good notes, a small smile on his face as he keeps kicking Frank back to consciousness, and Frank knows he will catch up, he has to. But just a few more minutes asleep.

He wakes up fully when he spots the ghostly girl walk in again, drifting through the door and just heading through the room to the seat in the back corner. It occurs to him as she sits down that he's never seen her in class before, but as he watches her sit down, her form passing through the girl already in the seat, he watches his living classmate shudder and seem to shrink down into her chair. 

Frank's never noticed before, never seen a ghost interact with anyone other than Gerard, but he can almost feel the misery coming off the girl as the ghost settles into her and takes a closer look. It's then he notices it, the way she hunches into herself, the wary dead eyed stare through her fringe and pulled down sleeves. He's seen that look in the mirror way too many times before, when things were getting too much at his old school, when hiding the bruises and misery was just one effort too much.

When the bell finally goes, Frank lingers, holding back as Nick hurries off with the rest of the class, and makes his way over to the girl. She's taking her time too, fingers fumbling her books, and doesn't look up at first when he comes over. Finally, with a huff of impatience she looks up.

“What do you want?”

Shrugging, Frank leans back against the desk in front and shifts his bag on his shoulder. “I just, uh, I'm still fairly new here and-”

“Is this you trying to hit on me?” She asks quickly, raising one eyebrow, “because seriously, no-”

“No! I mean, not that you're not- I just-” Frank laughs, rubbing one hand over his face and grins. “I've got a boyfriend.” He stops, his face frozen for a moment. “Huh.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” He grins again, broader. “That's the first time I've really said that out loud.”

The look she gives him is completely unimpressed. “Good for you, big whoop for confidence in your sexuality, so, what, you looking for signups for an LGBT pep rally or something?”

“No, no, I...” Frank hesitates, not really sure how to say 'did you know you have a ghost sitting in your seat and I think she may be making you depressed' and not sound like a complete lunatic. “Do you always sit here?”

Oh yeah, 'cause that's better. She gives him the 'you're a lunatic' look he was hoping to avoid and he shrugs.

“I just mean, uh...” Fuck it. “I'm having trouble following the class and Nick is helping but I thought I heard someone say you were good at Math and there's a spare seat next to me, so if you would maybe be able to help me out – not in a copying kind of way, I mean-”

Her smile becomes less mocking, more gentle, but there's still scepticism there. “You want a Math tutor?”

“Uh, maybe?” The more Frank thinks about it the more it actually makes sense. He really does hate Math and there is a good chance he's going to flunk out if he's being distracted by the undead Peggy Sue all the time. “Or just, y'know, a little help with algebra sometimes?”

“And here was me half hoping this was a my mate thinks you're cute moment.” Rolling her eyes, she finishes gathering up her stuff and stands, the movement making Frank go cross eyed for a second as the ghost stays sitting in the chair, studiously writing away. When he opens his eyes, the girl somehow looks a little lighter, warmer, and she gives him a bigger smile as she nods at last. “What the Hell, I'll give it a go, just for a week, but if you want proper tutoring it's gonna cost you.”

“Of course.”

“Right.” Holding out her hand, she waits for him to shake it then nods. “I'm Marie.”

“Frank.”

“Right, Frank. Monday, you'd better have done the assignment.”

“Yes ma'am.” He watches as she strides out, a little less hunched, and sighs as he returns his gaze to the ghost ignoring him as she sits in the chair. “You are gonna be a troublemaker aren't you.” Dropping down to crouch in front of the desk, Frank looks at her, smiling serenely to herself as she writes in an invisible book. “You don't look traumatised or any shit like that, why're you still here, huh?”

Blowing out a deep breath, he pushes back up to his feet and sways a little, exhaustion catching up with him, then heads out. Mikey will hopefully be waiting for him out front, and he could do with a little mindless horror fun for a night, even if he does suspect he'll be asleep by the time the second movie finishes.

****************************

Gerard smiles as he looks down at Frank's head resting on his thigh, soft snores coming from him. The first movie is barely halfway through, their ghost horror fest slash 'research night' not even really begun yet, and Frank is out like a light. “Mikey?” Gerard barely whispers, but Mikey looks round, sees Frank, and smiles before passing Gerard his beer. None of them want to disturb Frank, each remembering their own awakening with various levels of amusement mixed with a general sentiment of 'never again'. 

“How's he doing?” Bob asks quietly, looking at Mikey.

“Not bad, wiped out but he's working hard at it.”

“Trust him to be as much of a slavedriver with his own training as he is with mine,” Bob admits with a smile, watching as Gerard strokes gently over Frank's hair as he sleeps. “Don't let him work too hard though.”

“Like I'm gonna let him burn out,” Gerard whispers, looking down at Frank. “Worried about this school girl though, I don't like the sound of this ghost going through him thing.”

“Jealous much, Way?” Bob teases, but he digs through his bag for the books he borrowed and tosses them onto the bed beside Gerard, the thud making Frank shift a little in his sleep but not enough to wake him. “I can't help with the whole Spirit Guide thing but some of my great uncle's notes are in there and he goes on about the exorcism ghost forwarding thing.”

Gerard fumbles the book one handed until Mikey sighs and clambers up onto the bed beside them, taking the book from Gerard and flicking to the pages Bob's stuck a flyer into to mark even as Bob continues. “Looks like it isn't too bad with the GIF type ghosts, he basically needs to figure out what it is they're anchored to and do a cleansing spell over it to break the connection and the ghost will fade away.”

“Sounds easy enough,” Ray says, leaning forward. “You two know a couple of more advanced cleansing spells too, don't you?” Both Ways nod, having been trained in spells as much as in their own skills, and for far longer than they have had magic. “So we can teach Frank up, get all the supplies we need from home, no problem.”

“Identifying the anchor will be hardest,” Gerard says, reading the book in Mikey's lap even as his fingers continue to soothe their way through Frank's hair. “How do we figure out what's keeping her here if she won't talk to Frank?”

“She might talk to his guide, this William,” Mikey says, reading through the notes. “Apparently the guide can act as a go between and contact even the faintest ghost directly and bring information back, even if the medium can't communicate directly.”

“Freaky,” Bob mutters, taking a long sip of his beer as Ray chuckles.

“Just 'cause none of your line has any sight doesn't mean you should knock it, God knows I wouldn't mind a Spirit Guide to help out with some of my visions sometimes.”

“I don't need any undead Witch telling me what to do.”

“No, but listening to the live ones occasionally might help.”

“Guys,” Gerard hisses as Frank stirs a little, quieting them down again. “Enough. Mikey, Ray, help Frank get in touch with his Spirit Guide. Bob, maybe you and I can do a little digging on the girl, maybe see if anyone died at the school in the sixties, I can check out the newspaper archives at the library, you can try online or ask around?”

Shrugging, Bob glances around the room. “My mom went to that school too you know, wrong decade but there might have been stories going around still, I can ask her if she remembers anything.”

“Worth a shot,” Gerard admits but looks hesitant. “You sure they won't suspect?”

“Gee, out of all of our families,” Bob gestures to them all, “whose folks are least likely to go all collective on us and demand to know what we're up to?”

Grinning sheepishly, Gerard nods. “Point taken. Nonna is already watching us like hawks, we can't risk trying anything she might see but your dad's pretty good with secrets. Worth a try.”

“I'll look around school,” Mikey puts in, still engrossed in the books. “There's a bunch of awards and plaques and photos and shit around, I'll see if anything has the right dates on and might be about our girl.”

“Good idea.” Frank stirs in Gee's lap and they quieten down again, shifting in their seats and settling down to the film as Bruce Willis gets told the terrifying words “I see dead people”. 

Somehow though, it isn't as much fun as it used to be.

*********************************************

This shouldn't work. Ray is sure this shouldn't be working, logically it's crazy and completely at odds with everything he's been taught about seeing and the importance of feeling out a room and being in sync with his surroundings. This, _this_ , shouldn't work.

But there's no denying that it is, and let's face it, since when was anything about Frank Iero working according to anything Ray had ever been taught about the way magic should be.

Slouching on the spinning bar stool that usually sat behind the comic book shop counter, Ray watches as Frank perches cross legged on the counter by the sinks. It's noisy, the radio on and the shop doing a reasonable Saturday afternoon trade, and smells of ink and cardboard, but instead of putting Frank off, he looks completely chilled out.

Ray glances up as Gerard peers through the beaded curtain, a guilty grin at being caught looking sent Ray's way before returning to work. They had all agreed before they started training Frank that they should always have a “spotter” to look after him whilst he tried to contact William – and that Gee should be nearby in case of emergencies. Not that they were even sure Gerard's powers would actually do any good against the dead, but he was the best defence they could think of.

Well, him or Mikey, and to be honest the guy with the immunity to mind fuckery seemed a much better choice.

They've been at it for maybe an hour so far but for once Frank isn't fidgeting, some of the urgency and stress  
fading after a pretty solid twelve hours sleep. Ray on the other hand half wishes he'd brought his tarot cards with him to practise with or something (but not the candles – Charlie has strict rules about flames in the shop since 'the great almost fire' of 2011.)

Basically, Ray's bored and about to go on the hunt for a comic when Frank suddenly stirs, his eyes opening and fixing on a point by the back door.

“Hey Billy. Okay, okay, Bill. Good to see you.”

It's freaky, watching Frank conduct a conversation with thin air, but it's not like Ray is exactly unused to that. Having said that, Mikey is usually at least _looking_ at someone else even if you can't hear them too. Mikey does this small head tilt, like he's listening to the sky or something, or as Gerard calls it “the Star Trek communicator pose”. But Frank is no different, his usual animated self, he just happens to be addressing thin air. Not wanting to break Frank's concentration, Ray is very still, just listening as Frank continues to talk.

“So, what's with the parrot? Oh, really? I can do that?! Awesome! So what about a monkey, would you prefer that instead?”

Alternatively, judging by what he's saying, Frank has actually lost it or is talking in his sleep, or may even be pretending just to wind Ray up.

Frank laughs and closes his eyes before opening them again and focusing on Ray, blinking slightly like he's waiting for them to adjust to the light. “William says I should try talking to you whilst still listening to him, get used to communicating on two realities at once.”

“Cool, so what's he saying?”

Frank listens for a few seconds then snorts. “He says he loves your hair and is it completely inappropriate that if he still had corporeal form he would totally want to touch it?”

Ray is pretty sure Frank is translating rather than quoting – corporeal he can buy from a guide, but _totally?_. He grins nonetheless and nods in acknowledgement to the space by the door where Frank had been staring.

“Thanks. I, uh, like his parrot too?”

Frank giggles again and Ray can see him glance at the space where Bill must be. “Told you it suits you. Okay, okay, I'll stop thinking of you as a pirate. I guess you could use some modernising...”

Ray watches as Frank frowns, looking for all the world like he's constipated but actually they've figured out this is his 'concentrating' face. (And if Frank asks, they will of course totally deny that Mikey has ever, or would ever, do anything so naughty as to do a wickedly accurate impression of it.) 

Frank grins widely in triumph then, before Ray's eyes, suddenly pales, seeming to shrink into himself as though his spine has been cut. In a flash Ray is there, catching him and helping him to sit upright on the counter again.

“You okay?” Nodding quickly, Frank gives him a tired smile. With a swish of the beaded curtain Gerard returns and Ray gratefully hands Frank off to him, stepping back as they embrace. He can see the tension in Gerard's body as he runs his hands over Frank's back, gently giving him strength, but it's only for a few seconds then Frank pushes him away again with a nod.

“Thanks. Whoa, that was a Hell of a crash.”

“How'd you feel?” Ray asks quietly.

“Hungry...” Frank nods suddenly, “wicked hungry.”

Laughing, Gerard pats his back again before looking at Ray as he helps Frank slide off the counter. “Why don't you two go get some food and let Mikey know how it's going, seems like a good time for a break.”

“Want us to bring anything back for you?” Ray looks at Gerard, taking in the slight signs of strain around his eyes. “You look like you could use a caffeine hit yourself.”

Frank twists back to face Gerard, halfway through pulling on his jacket, and frowns. “He's right, you okay?”

“I'm fine, just tired, I didn't sleep too good. So yeah, get Mikey to make me one of his wake up specials.”

“Too much blood in your caffeine stream,” Frank jokes, wrapping his arms around Gerard's neck and giving him a kiss. “And no healing me if you're not up to strength, dumbass. I need to learn to handle this, remember?”

“Yeah, but...” Ray looks away as Frank sets to work shutting off Gerard's protests effectively with a full on lip to lip missile attack. Only when Gerard looks like he is melting into it does Frank pull back, planting one last kiss on Gerard's palm before backing away and dragging Ray with him. 

“Come on, Gee, work, Ray, fooooooooooood!” Laughing, and with one last apologetic glance back at Gerard, Ray lets himself be pulled away and out into the daylight. 

**********************************************

A snack at the coffee shop is all well and good, and Frank gets a small second wind, but by the time they head back to the Way house for some more food, Frank is almost dead on his feet again, despite having only been up for less than eight hours. Gerard has to almost guide him through the doorways and down to the basement, tucking him into the bed and ignoring Frank's soft protests that he's fine, he just needs to sit down for a couple of minutes and he'll be just fine.

He's asleep before Gerard has even finished adjusting the covers over him. 

It's a quiet evening, just Gerard and Mikey, and they content themselves reading through the magic books and practising the cleansing and protective spells they know. They don't speak about it, but watching Frank trying desperately to catch up with a lifetime of magic study has spurred them on to brush up on their own skills. Spells are not the same as their own powers, the art of balancing the ingredients and the incantations something they have been able to practise since they were kids. It's a subtle mix of chemistry and cookery, their own magic only secondary to the need to practise and hone their craft. 

Gerard can't help feeling guilty as he works, knowing he should have been keeping up with this, especially the healing spells and remedies his grandmother makes. He's studied under her for years, watching her work, filling books with recipes and spells and notes, drawings of herbs and flowers and anatomy turning old exercise books into something that looks like it could be on display in a museum. 

Except for the occasional werewolf or vampire or zombie dotting the margins of course. Somehow he doesn't think Darwin or Hippocrates were too big on the supernatural, although trying to place Werewolves in Darwin's evolutionary theory might have been fun.

The brothers eat with their parents, Frank still asleep downstairs and Mikey listening out for him like the world's weirdest baby monitor, then drift down again. Gerard pulls some of his old books out from under his bed, checking the recipes and spells and trying to make a list of anything that might be helpful with dealing with the dead, anything that he can find or do that might help Frank.

That might help Bert.

The thought of having even a fraction of Bert still, of being able to keep him here is so tempting, something Gerard had hoped for so much when Bert died, that it's hard to consider exorcising him and sending him away again. But maybe they don't have to, maybe there's a way they could somehow make it possible for him to stay, to make him a guide like William, so maybe he could be with them still, be with Gerard, that he could tell him-

Mikey looks up from his book just a second before Frank whimpers in his sleep. It's not much warning but it's enough to have Gerard scrambling across the floor and up onto the bed beside him. Stroking his hand across the blankets over Frank's back, Gerard soothes him, whispering to him quietly even as Mikey watches, looking into Frank's dreams.

“Block it. Gee, stop-”

It only takes a moment before Gerard closes his eyes, concentrating on bringing Frank safely into the bubble of his shields, wrapping them together. Frank calms instantly, but Mikey still stares at Gerard, considering.

“Were you thinking about Bert?”

“What?”

“He was dreaming about Bert, about Bert being here. Were you thinking about him?”

Gerard flushes, avoiding his gaze. It's coincidence, has to be. As Frank wakes from the nightmare, blinking sleepily up and complaining about them letting him sleep for so long, Gerard smiles and talks and reassures him - and outright ignores the look Mikey is giving him and the not so gentle poke against his mental shields. It's nothing, it's not like him thinking of Bert is enough to magic him there.

But once Frank is safely home and Gerard is alone in his bed, the scent and warmth of Frank still faintly clinging to the sheets, Gerard can't help lying in the dark and whispering Bert's name, listening to the silence for any sign of him, any trace of his ghost.

**************************************************

Elena, Matriarch of her Collective, grandmother to Gerard and Mikey, powerful Witch and leader, knows she can be a formidable figure, and yet at other times is severely underestimated as a sweet old lady. It doesn't matter to her which is is, whatever works to her advantage will do. And for now, formidable it is. 

Glancing around the table she takes in the selected members of the Collective, her own mini group or council, and leans back in her chair. “I think we've probably all noticed by now that there is something going on with our boys that they are not telling us. And I brought you all here to work out what we're going to do about it.”

It's the Bryars who break first, glancing at each other, before Mr Bryar shrugs and tries to smile it off. “I'm sure it's nothing serious, just a little love life issue, they will work it out.”

“I'm not so sure,” Ray's dad says softly, staring at his own fingers as they tap against the table. “Ray's worried about something he's seen but he doesn't want to talk about it. That's not necessarily a good sign.”

A low murmur of agreement goes round the table before Donna Way nods and stares at her mother. “Gerard is definitely in some sort of trouble, but he won't talk about it. Mikey knows but it's a lot to put on him to expect him to know when to speak up or admit they can't deal with it. I... I won't deny it, I'm worried about him.”

“We all are love,” Donald Way says softly, taking her hand in his, “but I don't know what you all expect to do about it. They are young men, exceptional young men, but they are not kids any more.”

“Donald, it's our responsibility to look after them-” Elena begins, only to be cut off by him.

“No, it's not yours, it's ours, we're their parents.”

“We're their collective-”

“Dammit, why does everything have to be solved with magic for you?” Pushing his chair back from the table Donald Way leans forward, staring her down. “I know you only invite me to these things out of courtesy, because you're messing with my sons' lives, but I'm getting tired of you missing the obvious! Yes, they have magic, and yeah, there is some big secret they are keeping from us, but did it ever occur to you that maybe there is a reason for that? That maybe they don't trust you?”

“Donald-”

“No, listen, last time Gee had a problem you tried to help with it was the school bullies, and what did your interference achieve? A curse that rebounded onto our family, that brought WitchFinders to our town, that almost got my son killed- Maybe that is exactly why they aren't looking to you for help, because they know what magic can do and what it can royally screw up.”

“That's not fair, Don-”

“Life isn't.” Taking a deep breath they watch as he calms down. “Look, I know I'm an outsider and still don't know enough about magic despite living with it for twenty five years, can never know what you all know, but I do know my sons. If they aren't telling you what's going on, then I trust that they have a good reason for it, and I also trust that they will come for help before they get in over their heads.”

“Even Gerard?”

He hesitates at that, his face dropping slightly. “Maybe not Gerard, not if he starts to get sick again, but I trust Mikey, and I trust his friends to watch out for him, and each other. Hell, they already faced down a Werewolf together, I think we can cut them a little slack.”

Mr Bryar pales at that, his hand reaching for his wife's automatically. “I think... I think Donald's right, we already owe those boys – Men - one, and I think we can trust them. I know you want to help them Elena, we all do, but I agree that without knowing what is wrong there's little we can do.”

“What about at least trying a larger white net, if we use more of the collective to build it, or maybe get the boys to help?” Mrs Toro says quietly, gesturing in a circular motion over the table. “The one we put over the area needs strengthening soon anyway, we could reinforce it now so that even if something does happen we can maybe contain it, keep it hidden and attuned to the boys more.”

“Only what you normally do anyway?”

“Yes,” Elena agrees, nodding to the others, “exactly what we normally do to keep ourselves safe, just a couple of weeks earlier than usual. Seers from another collective have seen dark forces rising in our area, it is only natural to take precautions.” Taking a deep breath, she considers for a moment. “I would also recommend we look at using the amulets-”

“What?” Donald says quickly, “the jewellery things?”

“Maybe not for the boys themselves, I doubt they would even take them, but the rest of the Toro household, Donna, those most at risk should WitchFinders try to come or something else rise. You.”

“Me?” Donald laughs, looking round the table. “You're kidding, right?”

“Can't hurt.”

Elena can see him searching their faces, looking for the joke, then sighing as he gives in. “Fine, I'll wear the damn necklace, you do your super secret umbrella spell, but the rest we leave as is. Be there for the boys, but don't pry. Agreed?”

A murmur of agreement goes round the table and Elena nods with them. Agreed. No special measures.

But maybe just a little nudge won't hurt...

******************************************

Frank wakes up slowly, his head still fuzzy, and the darkness in his room pretty solid except for the occasional glow of an LED from his phone or computer. It's warm and peaceful, his body calm and rested and his mind still for once. If it wasn't for just how awake he feels, he would almost suspect he was still asleep.

Lying back in his bed, Frank stares into the darkness and takes a deep breath, listening to the still of his house. It must still be the middle of the night, no hint of dawn through the gap in his curtains, no movement in the house, just that moment of perfect relaxation and knowing that he can go back to sleep any time he wants.

Until he hears it.

It's just a whisper at first, like the leaves in the trees, indistinct and subtle, lost in the background, but it starts to grow, almost words drifting through. Sitting up, Frank looks around the room, unable to find any source of the sound, and reaches for his sweatpants. If there is something freaky going on, he just knows he will be better able to deal with it if he isn't worried about walking round pantsless.

Dressing quickly, Frank works his way over to the window and pushes the curtain back, staring out over the cemetery in the dark night. The noise is drifting through the notch in his window where he left it open for air, the soft whispers almost lost in the sound of the still night, but enough to get his attention, especially when combined with what he can see.

The cemetery is shifting, alive, the faintest glow of figures fading in and out of his sight as he watches them drift through the tombstones. He can't tell if it's one ghost coming and going or a whole host of them, but it's mesmerising. The whispers are almost a song, low and mournful but at the same time somehow reassuring. Watching them, Frank takes a deep breath and blows it out easily.

“Bill?”

“I'm here, Frank.”

Smiling to himself, Frank continues to stare out the window, but knows Bill is beside him. “Thanks for coming.”

“I'm always here Frank, it's just not always easy to see me.” They watch in silence for a while, Frank feeling his body start to tire with the contact, but not as fast as before. It is getting easier, his body aching like a strained muscle, but starting to grow stronger too. Relaxing into the contact, he resists the urge to look for William in the room, instead saving his energy for the ghosts. “Oddly beautiful, isn't it?”

“Yeah,” Frank whispers, “it should be sad but I don't... It's peaceful.”

“Yes, the dead are not all at war with themselves or trapped, sometimes they simply are, a footprint in the sand that will fade in its own time and way. They do not seek to change or confront, just to wait patiently for their release.”

“Should I try to help them?”

William pauses, considering, and Frank can almost picture him shrug. “If you wish to try, but these spirits are content Frank. Some are a wish or a promise, a message waiting for their soulmate to join them, not seeking to hurry it along, but watching over them and waiting for them when their time comes, following their mate's soul to the beyond rather than their own.”

“You believe in a heaven then?”

“I hope, I believe, that there is more and I am proof that it is possible to carry on after mortal death but if you are looking for an answer to whether there's a God Frank, I'm afraid I'm no expert as I didn't exactly die now did I? It could be this piece of me, this spirit, is all that is left and that one day when my line is broken I will fade to nothingness and that might be sad. Or maybe I will move on and rejoin my wife and children in another life.”

“If I don't believe there's anything else, am I killing people if I help get rid of their ghosts? Shouldn't I be, like, trying to help more people stay around?”

He can almost feel the sigh, hesitant and awkward, and fights down a sigh of his own. “Frank-”

“It's okay, forget it.”

“No, you have a right to ask, to consider your skills and how you might use them. I cannot speak for all spirits but I can speak for me. I have lived my life and had it end the way it had to end. I have been lucky enough to be granted the second chance to see my grown children and grand children and be a part of their lives far beyond what I could have hoped for. But would I choose this for myself, to see my children grow and never be able to touch them or be with them again, to blink through decades of their lives and be forced to wake to find another generation have passed on every few years... I may not have grown old or had what you would consider a full life, but it was mine, and it is gone now. So if I fade to nothing, I will not be in pain. And if I move on, I will be reunited with those I love. So the way I see it, it's what I believe your mother would call a 'win win' situation.”

Laughing softly, Frank nods, considering. “How will I know who to help and who will go when they are ready?”

“You will know, when you act out of compassion and love, to protect the living or the spirit itself, then it is right.”

“I guess.” Letting the curtain drop, Frank sways on his feet a little, exhaustion draping over him again and fumbles his way back into the still warm bed. Settling down, he can feel Bill still with him in the room. Smiling to himself as a quiet squawk sounds, he closes his eyes and laughs. “You kept the parrot then.”

“ _You_ kept the parrot you mean,” William grumbles, but with affection. “He is somewhat entertaining though, so perhaps we should keep him. I shall name him Sisky after my great great granddaughter's husband, he does remind me of him.”

Snorting, Frank rolls over and buries his face half in the pillow. “Night, Bill.” Before he can even imagine a reply, sleep claims him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a bloody good thing I don't start posting a fic until it's already finished or today's news might have killed this completely. Keep Running killjoys, and remember, you may be gone, but out here in the desert your shadow lives on without you.


	4. Chapter 4

Sunday is supposed to be a day of rest, but since when was Frank ever that lucky? Instead of a peaceful day at home he finds himself sitting cross legged on the porch of the haunted house watching as Gerard tries to light a small camping stove with a lighter. Unfortunately all Gee has managed so far is to burn his fingers.

“Give it here,” Bob huffs at last and grabs the lighter, looking at the cheap disposable in disdain before tossing it back at Gerard's chest. “Seriously Way, grow up.” Pulling out his own Zippo he flicks it on and holds it out near the gas then, frowning in concentration, wills the flame to flatten out and slip closer to the gas. With a whoosh it lights and Frank grins, thumping Bob on the back then wincing away as the flame flares outwards in a brief fireball.

“Oops.”

“Fuck's sake, how many times, don't distract me when I'm playing with fire!” Bob flicks the lighter closed and settles back on his haunches even as Gerard reaches out and takes Bob's hand in his, looking it over.

“Not even scorched, just lost a few hairs. You'll be fine.”

“Not the point, I'm kindof attached to my hair thanks. Especially my eyebrows.”

“One time,” Frank points out, “and they barely even singed. Besides, that wasn't even magic.”

“No, that was what you try to call cooking,” Bob grumbles, but settles down anyway, pulling his hand back from Gerard and looking across at Mikey. A small smile plays over Mikey's lips as Bob stares, then with a slight cough, he draws all their attention and starts to speak.

“Okay, cleansing spells,” Mikey begins as Ray places a small pot on the flame and turns it down to just a low heat. “There are many variations on it, but if we start Frank off with the basic spell, it can then be adapted to different strengths and purposes. So, Ray usually adds a little lavender, sometimes hibiscus and rose petals depending on the season. Gee is more into the resins for adding a healing element to it, whilst I tend to use the basic sage mix plus maybe a touch of hibiscus. Depends on the mood, and different mixes work best for different people, but the basic spell is the same and very adaptable.”

“Like white sauce,” Ray offers, making them all stare. “What, I sometimes have to help out with dinner,” he mumbles, even as Bob cuffs him round the head.

“Beats Iero's style of cooking, also known as chargrill the fucker until it's dead, dead, dead, dead, dead.”

Frank just sticks his tongue out cheerfully, before Mikey raises an unimpressed eyebrow at them to draw their attention back.

“If you're finished,” Mikey says, upending the bag of herbs and ingredients they've stolen from the stockpiles at home, “then maybe I can start. Just like cooking, fresh ingredients are better than dried for certain recipes, but some herbs are better dried. Rule of thumb, if you're burning it, dry it first, if you're mixing, crushing, or boiling it, fresh. The most potent flowers are freshly picked, especially if you can do the spell under the same sun or moon you picked them under.”

“So this lot,” Frank says, picking up a bunch of what looks to him like twigs, “are the dried kind?”

Nodding, Mikey takes it back and starts laying things out. “Right. Nonna doesn't let us practice with the fresh stuff unless it's something special, but we're allowed into the dried stores whenever we like, plus if you get the spell wrong the side effects are less... drastic if you're doing a weaker version in the first place.”

“Why do I get the feeling Bob's eyebrows are the least of our worries?” Frank mutters, looking apprehensively at the pot as Gerard pours a cup of water into it, a slight hiss from the hot metal filling the air. “Do I have to do the whole spell from start to finish to do an exorcism thing, or can one of you guys do the prep work?”

“Not sure,” Gerard admits, picking a tied and braided bundle of herbs out from the pile. “This is one we prepared earlier, and Mikey and I did it together so it will be most effective if one of us actually casts the final spell, but I guess if we gave it to you and you did the rest it should work. But it's best that everyone knows the basics, just in case.”

“Just in case,” Ray echoes, staring into the flame, his voice oddly hollow. They stare at him, waiting with baited breath, until he suddenly blinks and looks up again, confused. “What?”

“You okay man?”

Sighing, Ray nods and rubs his hands over his face. “Sorry, just... Yeah, Frank and Bob need to learn this too. Don't ask me to explain, I seriously can't, but yeah, we _all_ need to know this shit.”

The atmosphere changes imperceptibly, the frivolity and jokes dying down, as Gerard nods and puts the bundle down, pulling out one of his notebooks instead. “We do. So, first things first, the spotters guide. Who knows what this herb is?”

***************************************

Frank is exhausted again by the time Gerard drops him off home, his roughly plaited bunch of herbs clutched in his fist and looking more like a toddler's attempt at a flower bouquet than a serious spell ingredient. Holding it up to the fading light, Frank sighs, trying to believe that the little bunch of dead plants can possibly help him out.

“It's more powerful than it looks,” Gerard reassures him again, smiling at him as he pulls the car up around the corner from Frank's house again. “Just like you.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“You know what I mean,” Gerard laughs, parking and switching the engine off, the radio still playing as they just sit. “I still can't believe how quickly you're picking all this up.”

“Yeah, well, it's not like I've got a choice,” Frank says softly, staring at the herbs still. “Sooner I pick this up, less vulnerable me and Mom will be, right?”

“Frank, you're not alone in this, you know that right?”

“If this is about the Collective again-”

“No, seriously, forget them,” Gerard says quickly, reaching out to hold Frank's hand over the herbs. “I don't mean them. I mean us.” Smiling softly, he leans in closer. “I mean me. I won't let anything happen to you, Frank.”

Frank turns to face him, considering. “Promise me something?”

“Anything.”

“If it comes down to... If you have to make a choice, or if anything happens to me, don't- Whatever happens, my Mom, I need to know- Keep her safe?”

“Frank, nothing is going to happen-”

“I know, I just, if you ever have a choice or if I can't be there, I need to know she's safe. Okay? I just need to know that.”

Swallowing hard, Gerard leans forward and wraps his hand behind Frank's head, pulling him close and resting their foreheads together. “I promise. She may not be part of the Collective but she's part of you and that means a Hell of a lot more to me, so yeah, whatever happens, I'll make sure she's okay. Okay?”

The kiss is soft but slightly desperate, Frank dropping the herbs in his lap and intertwining his fingers with Gerard's instead, letting the hand around his neck draw him closer and hold him firm, secure. He's safe here, with Gerard, there's nothing but the feel of his lips and the touch of his fingers and the smell of burning sage clinging to their skin and hair. 

“Come in with me?” Frank whispers at last, breaking the kiss and looking at Gerard's lips, his nose, their interlaced fingers, anywhere but his eyes. “Just... I need you.”

“Your mom-”

“Is at work, she's taking on extra shifts to try and catch up from the other week. She won't be home for hours. I just- Fuck, Gee, I need you.”

“I want- But you should get some sleep-”

“Forget sleep, Gee, what I need... I'm going out of my mind with thinking, I'm sick of it, I'm sick of sleep, I just want to feel, I just want- Fuck me Gee, please, I need... I want it, I want you, so much.”

The groan Gerard makes nearly undoes Frank there and then but he forces himself to wait, unmoving, waiting for Gerard's answer, hoping he hasn't pushed too far or come off as desperate or-

“Yes. Oh God yes, I mean, if you're sure, I mean, we've not- You've not-”

“I'm sure.”

Growling low in his throat, Gerard moves in closer and flicks his tongue over Frank's earlobe before whispering in his ear. “Then what the Hell are we waiting for?”

Grinning widely, Frank nods and pulls back, grabbing his bag and almost falling over the seatbelt as he twists out of the car, but recovers in time. As soon as the car is locked, he's grabbing Gerard's hand and tugging him towards the house, to Hell with what the neighbours might think. As the door unlocks, he doesn't care what anyone else thinks or who might be watching as he grabs Gee's t-shirt by the front and drags him in with a fierce kiss, the door slamming closed behind them.

The neighbourhood is quiet again, no curtains twitching or cries of outrage or voyeuristic stares, but as the sun dips below the horizon there is still someone watching as Frank's curtains are pulled closed.

****************************

“You're just a little slut, aren't you?”

Frank wakes with a start, not even sure when he drifted off in the light of the afternoon sun slipping between his curtains, warm and content in Gee's arms. He can still feel the warmth of Gerard's body beside him, the slight itch of too hot patches of skin and a numb hand caught between them, but the voice yelling at him is most definitely not Gerard. 

“Bert,” Frank sighs, fighting against the urge to pull the blanket higher up over himself. “Great timing.”

“You little whore,” the ghost hisses, the voice wavering in and out of volume like an old cassette tape that's been chewed up by the machine, or a dodgy skype call. It's more than enough for Frank to make out every word though; luckily (or not, depending on how you look at it), he's heard a lot worse and is mostly immune by now.

Mostly.

“Opening yourself up for him, begging for it, he's not really yours you know, he's still mine, he's still thinking of me-”

“You wish,” Frank mutters. “Pretty sure he couldn't even remember his own name, let alone yours earlier.” The figure of Bert is vague, everything but his face is fuzzy, but his voice is too just too damn loud, shouting and cutting through Frank's head. Scooting back up the bed Frank pulls the covers with him, trying desperately to concentrate, to call for William, to not wake Gerard who is starting to stir beside him, but his brain feels fuzzy, like there's not enough air in the room. “Shut up and get over yourself.”

“You think I'm just going to let you get away with this, it isn't fair!” Bert wavers into focus, sharp and clear for a second and Frank really didn't need to see that, the high definition vision of what is undoubtedly a car crash corpse flickering before his eyes before fading, thankfully, into the vague outline of his ghost again. “I wasn't supposed to die, how come he gets to carry on and I'm dead! He's the freak, and you, you little-”

Frank resists the urge to scream as Bert suddenly looms closer, darting straight through the bed and leaning right over him, hands reaching for him, and the first flash of his touch on Frank's chest is like fire on his skin. “Fuck!”

“You think you can just take him from me?” Bert yells, his hands grabbing at Frank, gripping his shoulders tight, “make him forget all about me with your tongue, with your hands, well forget it-”

Frank can't cry out any more, can't speak, can't breathe. It hurts like Hell, scratches forming on his skin at the very touch of Bert's fingers hurt, lines of pain and fire burning through him as Bert's grip slides down his chest, but the touch is also so cold, stealing the breath from his lungs and the heat from his body. He can't breathe, can't move, can't do anything but lie there.

“Bill...” Focusing as best he can, Frank tries to look around the room. Where the fuck is he? “Help me...”

“Frank!” 

It's not Bill, not his voice, but suddenly there is movement and a flash of blue and the pain fades, Bert shooting back across the room and vanishing through the wall as though pulled backwards by an invisible rope. Then there's warmth, so much warmth, thank fuck, and air, and Frank gasps as he pulls it in, letting himself be held. Seriously, he is getting so sick of not being able to breathe.

“Gee-”

“Shh, it's okay, you're okay, I've got you. Fuck, Frankie, what-” Frank lets himself be laid down on the bed, and stares down at his heaving chest even as Gerard's fingers trace over the rapidly rising red welts on his skin. They are shocking against the paleness of his chest, raised and livid and angry, like gouges up his ribs. “Frank, what happened, how did this happen, I don't understand.”

“Bert.”

“Bert did this?” Gerard hesitates, something odd on his face as he takes in the marks. “But... He wouldn't-”

“Gee, I think he's a little jealous,” Frank tries to laugh but it comes out with an odd gasp at the end as Gerard touches a sore spot. “It's okay, I've dealt with jealous exes before, I'll cope.”

Gerard kneels on the bed beside Frank, the covers slipping down his body and pooling in his lap. “Yeah, course, but... Are you sure? I just, it can't be Bert, he wouldn't-”

“Don't you believe me?” Frank asks at last, watching as Gerard stares at the marks, transfixed by them. Pulling the covers up higher, he blocks them from view before reaching down beside the bed for his discarded top.

“What?” His movement seems to break Gerard's stare and he shudders before shaking his head. “No, I mean yes, I mean- Of course I believe you, I just... Bert wasn't like that, he wasn't perfect but he never hurt me, he never did anything like that.”

“It isn't Bert,” Frank says quickly, shrugging into his pants again. “I told you that, this isn't your Bert, not completely. And he may not even have known he _could_ hurt me, or that he was, not really.”

Which, even as he says it, Frank knows it sounds lame, and to be blunt, he doesn't believe it but what the Hell, if it helps Gerard calm the fuck down then who cares?

“I know, I just-” Frank flinches as Gerard wraps around him, naked body pressed against his freshly clothed one and letting the warmth seep through the layers to his skin. He can't help pressing back into it, letting his head fall back onto Gerard's shoulder. “Fuck it, Frank, I never thought he would hurt you, I can't- I'm so sorry.” A kiss to his neck, warm and desperate and begging for forgiveness makes Frank twist to pull Gerard into his arms properly, shifting on the bed to kneel beside him. “I'm sorry.”

“I know, it's not your fault, you stopped him-”

“I should have acted sooner, you needed me, and I was just asleep-”

“Shh,” Frank whispers, resting against Gerard as, to his horror, Gerard starts to snuffle against him. “Hey, no, no, don't-” Leaning down, he kisses him quickly, grabbing his jaw to pull him higher, pressing their lips together as he practically clambers onto Gerard's lap. “You stopped it, you stopped him, and it was fucking amazing.”

Snuffling, Gerard kisses him back, his fingers slipping under the hem of Frank's top and pulling it up again. “Let me help, I want to...”

Frank lets him lift it clear, wincing at the scrape of the fabric on his sore skin, the welts feeling like fresh burns, hot and throbbing. He watches as Gerard places his hand flat against the worst one, fingers splayed over his stomach, and feels the familiar warmth and tingle of his healing energy.

But when Gerard pulls back the mark remains.

“What the fuck-”

“Shit,” Gerard breathes softly, trying again, frustration clear on his face. “They're a mystical wound, I can't- It's like a werewolf or Vampire bite, I can't-” Biting his lip in frustration he looks so angry with himself it scares Frank. “I can't do it, I'm no use to you, I can't fix it!”

“It's okay,” Frank whispers quickly, pushing Gerard back down onto the bed and clambering over him, kissing at his neck, his chest, anywhere and everywhere he can as he whispers. “It's okay, you did great, you saved me, you did so good baby.”

“Frank... I won't let him hurt you again, I swear, I won't-”

“I know, I know.” As he kisses away the words, Frank holds back a shudder at the feel of Gerard's body against his damaged skin, but as the pain is replaced by pleasure once again he tries to push the fear of those grey eyes away once more.

*********************************

Linda Iero is the mother of a teenage boy. And a witch. And she has been in a psychiatric hospital. As such, there is not that much that will surprise her, but opening the door to her son's room and seeing what is going on is enough to shock even her.

“What the Hell- Frank!”

Frank looks up from where he is kneeling on the floor, and grins sheepishly. “Mom, you're early.” Holding out his arms to reassure her, he shakes his head. “This isn't what it looks like.”

Linda raises one eyebrow disbelievingly as she takes in the mess and young men in the room. Frank's bed has been pulled away from the wall and is now in the centre of the room, a young man with an amazing head of hair leaning over the headboard and giving her a weak smile. Another with glasses is kneeling on the other side of the bed to Frank, whilst the one she has met before, Bob or Rob or something, is leaning over the foot of the bed, a can of salt in his hand spilling a small white mountain onto the floor until he notices and jerks it upright.

The fifth is off to one side, a book in his hands, and a deer in the headlights look on his face as he stares at her. The fact that he also has a huge hickey starting to blossom under one ear, and the way his face reddens as his gaze flicks to Frank, makes her sigh. He must be the boyfriend then.

“It _isn't_ what it looks like. So, if you aren't creating a sanctuary space around your bed, then I would be _very_ interested to know just exactly what the five of you are doing in this bedroom.” Frank grins then shrugs.

“Okay, so it's exactly what it looks like.” Rising to his feet he puts his own can of salt down and gestures around the room. “Mom, this is Ray and Mikey, Bob you already met but don't know if you'll remember that well, and this is Gerard. We, uh...” Taking a deep breath, Frank pulls up the hem of his t-shirt with a wince. “I had a visitor and the guys are just figuring out a way to stop it happening again.”

“Oh, Frank-” Hurrying over to him, she pulls his top up further, running her fingers over a welt slowly. “These are spectral burns, what happened?”

“I'll explain later, I just- The spell's kinda at a crucial point so if we can finish-”

Stepping back, she takes a deep breath and fights the urge to run, to scream, to grab Frank and drag him to the car and drive away, far away, away from all this, to just go-

“Mom,” Frank says softly, slipping his arms around her and pulling her close, whispering right into her ear. “I'm okay, I promise. We're gonna make sure it doesn't happen again. Go downstairs, I'll be right there.”

“I...” Nodding to him, she gathers her courage and looks around the room, trying to ignore the marks on her son's skin. “Okay.” Glancing at the boy with the book, she tries to fight the urge to slap it from his hands, the mere sight of it enough to spark an urge deep inside her, to stop them before it's too late.

Instead, she carefully retreats from the room and down the stairs, closing the kitchen door behind her before sinking down onto the floor against it. She can do this. She can.

She has to.

***********************************************

“Your mom remembers Sanctuary Spells,” Ray says quietly, looking at the others with a small smile. “That's good.”

“Is it?” Frank says gruffly, resuming his place at the side of the bed and kneeling on the floor. “How'd you figure that?”

“Sanctuary Spells are only used for defence,” Mikey offers, glancing down at the floor and the faint chalk line they've drawn to guide themselves, “they have no dark use. And your mom recognised the spell just from the salt and layout, so she must have performed one in the past.”

Sighing to himself, Frank picks up his salt again and blows his hair back from his face, ignoring the itch of the burns to his chest. “Again, so what? I told you, it's not like she was born evil or some shit, she was good, she just fell in with a bad crowd. So she knows some good spells, great, maybe she remembers some bad ones too, but I really don't give a fuck. Now can we get on with this before Freddy Kreuger gets back?”

Frank can almost feel Gerard wince behind him but he can't take it back and besides, if the shoe fits.

“Okay,” Ray says quickly, nodding to them as they all move into position once more, salt at the ready. “So, Gee will recite the incantation and light the smudge stick, circling us. As soon as he reaches you, follow his path with the salt and concentrate.”

“On what, there's no place like home?”

Laughing, Ray shrugs. “If that helps. The words don't matter, the feeling does. It has to be something pure, something clean, an urge to help. To protect.”

“Not sure I have any pure thoughts,” Frank grins and Mikey can't help snorting in agreement, making Frank stick his tongue out at him.

“Then think of your mom, if you're having impure thoughts about her I really don't wanna know about it,” Bob gruffly interjects, “can we get on with this, I gotta finish Mrs Cooper's Chevy tonight and it's already getting dark.”

“Aww shit,” Frank curses and they all stare at him. “I haven't done my Math assignment and I'm probably gonne spend most of the night calming Mom down. I'm with Bob, let's get this done.”

Nodding, Gerard rests the book on his forearm and holds the bundles of herbs between his fingers at the top. Grasping his lighter in his other hand, he gets it ready. “Okay, all set?” Taking a deep breath, he lights the herbs and as soon as they are alight begins to read. Frank's mind falls mostly blank as Gerard starts his path around the bed, listening to the soft swish of the salt and the silent work of his friends. 

Once the circle is complete, the others back out of the way but maintain their positions at the four compass points of the circle whilst Gerard completes one more circuit. This time the smoke doesn't just drift up but seems to sink, drawn into the pure white salt and turning it grey. When he finally steps out of the circle, snapping the book shut, the circle flares with light then vanishes, leaving no trace behind.

Frank breaks the silence first, staring suspiciously at his rug. “Does that mean it worked?”

“Guess so,” Ray offers, grinning. “Not bad for beginners, eh?”

“Yeah, I just wish I wasn't the guinea pig testing if this is actually gonna work.”

“Frank-”

“Sorry, sorry, I just... Thanks guys, I appreciate the help. Did seem like a lot of work for five though, I mean, couldn't I have done the salt part and Gee the spell and that's it?”

“Why is rope a plait instead of a single strand,” Ray says, gathering up the salt and shutting the lids, returning the tubs to his bag. “It gains strength from being interweaved, so does the spell. One witch can do this alone if necessary, but that means only their strength is put into the barrier. The more Witches take part, the stronger the protection. Same principle with any protection spell.”

“Okay, okay,” Frank says, holding up his hands in surrender. “Now for the real question. How the fuck do I get the smell of burnt bird's nest out of my room?”

****************************************************

Whether to try and help Frank explain it to his mom, or just out of solidarity, all five of them traipse down to the kitchen once Frank's room is put to rights. Or maybe guilt is more of a factor as Bob managed to put a hole in the plasterboard _pushing_ Frank's bedside cabinet back into place. It could even be just a morbid sense of curiosity but in all honesty Frank doesn't care, especially when he sees the look on his mom's face.

It's been a while since he's seen her properly mad as opposed to just worried. On the one hand it's a relief and a welcome return to normality in the face of ghosts stalking him in his bedroom.

On the other hand, it's terrifying.

“Sit.”

The command has them all dropping into chairs as though the music has stopped and Frank can't help a small nervous grin as Mikey whispers in his head.

*Dude, your mom is scarier than our nan!*

Stifling the grin, Frank puts his hands together on the table to help resist the urge to put one on Gerard's thigh. That doesn't stop him pressing his knee against his though.

“Did you set fire to the carpet?”

Frank snorts with laughter but Gerard colours and a shy smile appears. “Not since I was twelve ma'am. Overdid the salt.” Frank sniggers at the confession but his mother just nods.

“So, you think it worked then?”

“Short of shoving Frank in the middle of it and trying to curse him, we've tried everything we can to test it,” Ray offers, his best 'trust me I'm a professional' tone coming through. A short sigh of relief comes from Ms Iero before she leans back in her chair. 

“At least that's something. So, you boys are all...” Gesturing in a circle with her hand to encompass them all, she watches as they nod until Bob answers gruffly.

“If by that,” he says, mimicking her gesture, “you mean Witches then yeah. If by that you mean gay or have any interest whatsoever in your son's skinny ass then just the one.”

Gerard goes bright red and Frank can't help laughing as Ray reaches over and cuffs Bob round the back of the head. Frank's mom just watches, a reluctant smile breaking out on her face. “I like you. You're the one who was here that night.”

“Yes ma'am,” Bob answers, “Frank's helped me with a family issue of my own, just repaying the favour.”

“Are you now.” Tapping her fingertip on the table, she hesitates, as though making a decision. “Spells. In my house. I know Frank has to practise and God knows, I have no problem with William being around, but directed magic, I-”

“I'm sorry ma'am,” Mikey says quickly, “we probably should have asked, but with Frank's injuries we figured it better to act.”

“Of course you did boys, and I'm grateful to you, but still, even simple spells can sometimes backfire and I-” Sighing and closing her eyes, she shakes her head. “Whatever, just text me next time Frankie so I don't have to walk in on it will you? I'd rather not- The smell is a bit-”

_*Oh fuck, Frank, it's a trigger for her-*_

_*A what?*_

_*A trigger, it reminded her of something, and not a good memory*_

“Mom, shit, I should have thought.”

“I'm not a wilting flower Frank,” she snaps back and they all shrink a little as she glares at him. “I just want a little consideration, okay?”

“Yes mom. I know you're worried about me-”

“Worried?” She gives him an incredulous look and slams her hand on the table. “Worried is for staying out past curfew or having unprotected sex or drinking, you are messing with forces that I know first hand can mess you up from the inside out, and that I have been trying since before you were even Goddamned born to protect you from. I think we are a bit beyond worried by now, don't you agree?”

Hunching into his chair, Frank nods.

“As for you all, what-” She pauses, trying to find the words. “What path do you follow?”

“Sight,” Ray offers quickly, “I'm a seer, prophet.”

“Telepath.”

“I'm a healer and defender, so kinda a two for one deal.”

Bob on the other hand simply shrugs. “My folks aren't so hot on the whole magic path bit, we're not strictly blood magic, but I'm a telekinetic.”

“Curse magic?” Frank's mom asks, leaning forward in interest.

“Wolf.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah,” Bob says with a small grin.

“But your parents are in a collective?”

“Dad's not exactly what you'd call active on the PTA or ever been nominated for With of the year, but yeah, we're in.”

“Interesting.” Sitting back, she nods slowly. “My... My parent's collective was pretty strict, they didn't approve of curse magic. Or anyone who strayed from the light even a little.”

“Is that why you left?” Gerard asks quietly, unsure what he would have done had his collective not been so open – not to mention forgiving. Not that he had ever used dark magic, not exactly, but after Bert died and with some of the shit he got around town, it had been so hard. So he occasionally wound someone up until they swung at him, picked fights with guys just to watch them cry out in pain when their fist hit his barriers, but it was only a couple of times until he'd snapped out of it. He hadn't really strayed too far.

The scariest part was how easy it had been, and how much he had enjoyed it.

“Oh I didn't stray until after I left, but let's just say we didn't all see eye to eye on certain issues long before that. Like cursed Witches.” Hesitating, she looks round the table as though counting them. “Are you coven?”

Frank looks confused but Ray laughs. “Don't think so ma'am. I mean, we'd know, right?”

Arching one eyebrow, she gives him a look that is so reminiscent of Gerard's grandmother that Frank wonders if maybe it's a Witch trait, something that comes hand in hand with magic; buy one set of phenomenal cosmic powers, get the eyebrow of doom for free.

“If there is one lesson in this life that is hard to learn, it's that love isn't like in the movies, and Magic isn't always something that just happens or you feel, it can creep up on you. But, if you don't think so...” shrugging casually, she leans back in her chair. “I won't lie, if Frank has to deal with this I much prefer the idea of him doing so with a coven to back him up, especially with more experienced Witches in it, but friends are almost as good.”

“So they can come over?” Frank asks quickly, grinning.

Rolling her eyes, his mother glances at the clock and sighs. “Same rules as Gabe and Pete had, no school night sleepovers and your boyfriend does not stay in your room. Understood?”

Gerard goes bright red, ducking his head, but Frank just flushes lightly as his grin fades a little. “Mom, I'm seventeen-”

“I know and in this day and age maybe I should be encouraging you to stay at home, warm and comfortable, and providing you with condoms rather than forcing you out to make out in the backseat of a car like I had to, but you know what Frank? That's just your luck to have an evil Witch of a mom like me, isn't it?”

************************************************

It isn't until Frank's getting ready for bed that night, the red lines on his chest standing out starkly against his pale skin, that he senses a familiar presence. Closing his eyes, he tries to focus, to relax, and when he opens them again he can see him.

“William. Where the fuck were you?”

William's outfit has changed a little, the long sash from his waist now tied around his leg. The trousers are the same, and the boots, but his shirt is less flamboyant, more fitted, and his resemblance to a pirate is fading each time Frank calls on him.

Except for the parrot of course. Sisky squawks once in welcome and flies off to rest on top of the wardrobe. Seriously, Frank has to give credit to his own imagination sometimes, it's a handsome looking bird.

“Frank, that's not how this works, I can't-”

“I thought you were supposed to help me, not leave me to get sliced up by a fucking ghost, I called for you-”

“And I heard you, I was here, but by the time I could do anything your... friend had taken care of it already.”

“My _friend?_ ” Snorting, Frank shrugs into a t shirt and flops down onto the bed. “What's the matter Billy Boy, did guys not do that sort of thing when you're from?”

“Oh grow up Frank,” William exclaims, sighing with what sounds like the last of an almost infinite supply of patience. “Regardless of the gender of your companion, I am your kin, a relative, I knew your mother and your grandmother, and incidentally your father and grandfather too, it would hardly be the first time my charge has taken on a lover. Your great great grandfather was, as your mother would put it, quite the goer. I have no sexual desire of my own any more, no voyeuristic interest or shame or embarrassment. But that doesn't mean everyone has felt... comfortable knowing I am watching when they are engaged in what should rightly be a private and intimate act. Not to mention, how their partners would feel. So I can choose to stay – or to leave you in peace for a while.”

Frank winces a little at the thought of how Gerard would react to knowing that William could watch them. “So, even when I didn't know you were there, since I was seventeen you could still see me all the time, you could watch...” 

William smiles a little, then shrugs. “I could. But I don't.”

Blowing out a sigh of relief, Frank slouches deeper into his covers with just the faintest hint of his pout remaining. “That still doesn't excuse you leaving me to get messed up.”

Spirits may not be able to feel sexual desire, but Frank knew exasperation when he saw it. “As you say, I shall endeavour to pay more attention in future. And if you would sleep in your nightclothes after copulation I would have a clear signal to return...”

Grinning at the memory of Gerard's warm body pressed against his, sleepy and pliant, Frank can't help a happy little noise escaping him. “Yeah, well, we weren't exactly up to moving about right then.”

“You were also vulnerable. Frank, the protection spell you have cast should safeguard you whilst asleep in future, but you need to be more careful. And you need to practise, I was slow to react because you weren't focused, I need you to bring me into this plane, just as Bert needs his anchor to the physical world to tie him here. Without you I am adrift.”

Frank closes his eyes as his body starts to tire, the concentration draining him less quickly with each encounter with his guide, but still exhausting in its own way. “I'm working on it, I swear.”

“I know you are Frank,” William replies, his voice fading a little as sleep starts to catch up with Frank. Reaching out sleepily to switch out the light, Frank bounces and wiggles his way under the covers. “We will just have to keep working on it.”

“Great.” Muttering to himself in the dark, Frank pulls the covers up over his head. “Stupid ghosts.”

“Stupid corporeals,” a very faint whisper replies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I'm a little later posting this chapter than I had planned, housemate had birthday and then most unfairly got sick with what I suspect may at some point mutate into the start of the zombie apocalypse. Touch wood I will remain immune, but if Hollywood is wrong and the zombie virus starts in the South West of England then folks, I knew patient zero!


	5. Chapter 5

Frank is fidgety in school the next day, his burns itching like crazy as they start to heal, but stinging if he tries to touch them. At least he doesn't have gym on a Monday; he really doesn't need someone catching sight of them and thinking Frank's getting beaten up by his folks or some shit like that. Trying to explain being haunted to social services is not his idea of fun.

Nick eventually gets fed up with him halfway through the day and gives him a swift kick under the table to get him to at least stop jittering, but it's hard. Ever since he moved to this school, Frank has never been more grateful for a day to end, and almost moans with relief when he gets home and throws himself under a cold shower. The water soothes the itch a bit, drawing out some of the heat, but by the time he's dry he can feel it creeping back in again. Leaving his top off to try and reduce the irritation, Frank almost forgets he isn't fully dressed when there's a knock at the front door, grabbing a jacket and tossing it over his shoulders at the last minute.

Mikey Way raises an eyebrow at the look, whilst Gerard blushes, just a little. Growling in his throat, Frank tosses the jacket back into the closet and motions them in, not caring how he looks as long as the fucking itch stops. But when Mikey pulls a jar out of his bag and starts talking, Frank can't help staring at it suspiciously.

“It's what?”

“A remedy, we found it in Bob's uncle's journal, it's supposed to help with spectral injuries, burns, chills, projectile vomiting-”

“Projectile- What the fuck dude, you think I don't have enough problems?”

Mikey thrusts the jar into Gerard's hands and rolls his eyes. “Just shut up, sit down, and let Gerard cover your chest.”

All three of them freeze, Mikey's face turning up in disgust as he picks up on the all too vivid mental image (okay, memory) the words have triggered in Frank's mind, whilst Gerard is obviously trying very hard not to just melt into the floor with embarrassment.

“Oh, gross, shut UP!” Clapping his hands over his ears, Mikey shakes his head and glares at Gerard. “You know what, you deal with him, I'll walk home.” Slamming out of the house, Mikey leaves them alone and Frank can't help laughing as he watches him go, even as he flushes a little in embarrassment. It's not like he planned to scare Mikey off.

Doesn't mean he won't take advantage of it though... 

“That wasn't very nice,” Gerard scolds him, pushing Frank through to the kitchen and making him sit down on the edge of the table. Standing in front of him, Gerard dips his fingers into the green gloop in the jar and scoops out a blob, wincing at the strong smell of vinegar. Frank shudders at the chill of it against his skin as Gerard starts to apply it, then sighs happily as the itch fades a little, the familiar warmth of Gerard's touch somehow being conducted through the goo.

“Come on, admit it, it was funny though,” Frank says happily, “and 'sides, it got me what I wanted.”

“Which is?”

“You.” Gerard grins as Frank hooks his ankles behind his hips, pulling him closer and forcing him to arch back to avoid being pressed into the goo on Frank's chest. “Just you.”

“You're definitely starting to feel better then,” Gerard deadpans, swiping a small trace of the goo over Frank's nose.

“Uh huh, I-” Frank stops as the smell makes his eyes start to water, his hands flapping around ineffectively even as Gerard laughs and wipes it off again with his clean thumb. “Oh seriously, what is IN this stuff, it smells like, like...”

“Evil?”

“Pickled something that should have just been allowed to die in peace a couple of decades ago instead of being forced to hang out in a jar.”

Snorting, Gerard considers the jar before returning to his work, applying a layer of the goo over Frank's injuries and carefully rubbing it in. “If you want a complete list of ingredients I can give it to you, but I should warn you, sometimes ignorance is bliss.”

“Great. You're covering me in Yak piss or some shit, aren't you.”

“Frank, just shut up and be grateful,” Gerard says quickly, finishing up on Frank's chest before pulling out of his clutches. Motioning Frank into a chair and forward to rest his chin on his folded arms on the table, he checks out the few marks on Frank's back too, where Bert's hands had pretty much gone right through his chest. Gerard dreaded to think what he looked like on the inside if that was the damage to the surface. “Damn, I didn't realise there were so many.”

They fall silent for a few minutes as Gerard finishes working, putting the jar to one side before laying his hands flat on Frank's back and muttering something Frank can't hear. He definitely feels the flash of heat that pulses through his body at the end though, all the places the goo has been placed flushing with fever before cooling wonderfully. It's as though all the heat has been pulled out of the wounds, just wonderful numbness left.

“Wow,” Frank mutters quietly, sitting up as Gerard pulls back and checks out his skin. The burns are still there, still visible, but less angry, looking more like week old scars than fresh wounds. The itch and sting is gone, just the odd tight soreness of new and fragile skin remaining. “That Yak piss is good shit.”

Laughing, Gerard screws the lid back on the jar and slides it onto the table before dropping into the chair beside Frank. “Told you so. It's good stuff on it's own, but it also blocks some of the mystical aspect and let me help out too so for that alone I'm gonna mix up an entire pantry worth.”

Smiling softly, Frank leans forward and kisses him gently, just a chaste peck but enough to show his gratitude. “Thank you. So, can you teach me that spell thing at the end, or,” he purrs, “do I need to have you as my own personal nursemaid for a bit, on hand at all hours to make me feel better.”

“I can teach you the spell, it's not that- Oh.” Gerard blushes as he picks up on the invitation, and tilts his head, looking at Frank through his eyelashes. “Your mom made it quite clear how she feels about that.”

“Like you say, Gee,” Frank whispers, leaning in closer still until he has to go cross eyed to focus, Gerard's eyes all he can see, even if there are now three beautiful orbs instead of two. “Sometimes ignorance is bliss...”

*********************************************

Bob Bryar knows to wait until his mom is in a good mood before asking about the school. He also knows the best time to ask for any kind of favour – especially the sort that he doesn't want too much attention paid to. It's always that time of the month when the moon is just a sliver in the sky, and he tries never to notice just how oddly... happy both his parents are around that time.

Or that his dad will always schedule in lots of work for Bob, and maybe even overtime, at the garage that week.

Bob especially does not ever, ever, notice that the chest full of restraints in the cellar sometimes ends up a little bit disorganised by the end of the week.

It's not that Bob is stupid enough to think that his parents never have sex, or even to never consider that being chained up once a month is enough to trigger a little bit of a bondage kink for his dad (or his mom, but he really tries not to think of that). He knows full well what is probably going on or why they are in such a good mood that particular week.

It's just not something he likes to dwell on too much.

Having said that, being aware of the timing, playing on their good moods, using their slightly distracted focus – and guilt about pushing him out of the house during that time – did bring some distinct advantages. New parts for his car for example, or for his drum kit, or permission to go to some gig out of state, that sort of thing.

So it makes perfect sense to strike now. Except, how do you ask about a ghost without revealing you're being (however indirectly) haunted? In the end, being Bob, he opts for his usual tactic; the truth.

Or, at least, pieces of it.

“Mom?” Bob leans against the wall, watching her mix paint on a battered old piece of board, her attention all on the canvas before her. She paints just as a hobby, but she's not terrible, just... eccentric.

“Yes dear?” Bob winces as another dash of pearlescent pink is added to the tail of her unicorn. The stuff she paints is best described as fantasy but in all honesty Bob much prefers Gerard's take on it. There's definitely less pastels involved.

“When you were at High School, did you ever... You know when they dedicate a bench to an old teacher or dead pupil, did you ever talk about it? Like ghost stories or urban legends?”

Pausing in her work, she puts her brush and board down and wipes her hands down on the apron covering her clothes, splotches of silver and pink and purple covering the fabric. “Bob, is this about Bert? Has someone being saying something?”

It isn't exactly what she meant, nor is it the whole truth, but technically it is about Bert, in a round about way, so Bob just nods.

“Oh honey, I...” Thinking, she nods. “Kids don't mean anything by it, it's just at that age you think you're invincible and going to live forever, so when something like that happens, to someone your age, it doesn't seem quite real. It's like something on TV or a story, you forget there are real people involved. They can be quite harsh without realising.”

“So, was there anyone who, you know, when you were at school?”

With a sigh, his mother nods and sits down on a small wooden stool by the canvas, even as Bob folds his frame into a chair in the corner. It smells like oil paint and his dad and fundamentally home. 

“Well,” she starts, considering. “There was a boy in the year above mine who ran away, never graduated, just got on a bus and nobody saw him again. There was a rumour he became a porn star, but some of the other stories were a lot darker, mostly theories about why he ran away. It was pretty hard for his family, especially his little sister, she ended up moving schools.”

Tapping her fingertips together, she looks into the distance. “Oh and one of my old teachers almost died on the job, heart attack, he recovered eventually but never came back to school. That was pretty tough on his class, there were loads of exaggerated stories about how he staggered around the school with his eyes popping out, grabbing girls before collapsing on one of them.”

“Did he?”

“Nope,” she smiles slightly, shrugging. “He was sat in his classroom and thought he had indigestion. When it started getting really painful he called in another teacher to cover and went to the nurses office. He was very lucky that her family had heart troubles and she recognised the symptoms, because she got him to hospital in time for him to get some help.”

Snorting, Bob looks down at his hands then up again. “Rumours, eh?”

Nodding, his mother wipes her fingers again, half picking at the paint on them before meeting his gaze. “So, are there rumours about Bert?”

Shaking his head a little, Bob sighs. “No worse than they have been, the ones about Gee were always worse. It's just hard, to think about him becoming some sort of story. I just, I've been forgetting him, and I don't really want to, he was my friend.”

“Of course, but just remember Bob, you knew him, you knew the real Bert, and no matter what people say they can't take that away from you.”

Bob is pretty sure taking Bert away from him is not going to be a problem, not if he really is haunting Iero, but if the ghost really is just a snapshot, one moment, then remembering the rest of him, the good parts, is going to get harder still. 

“Yeah.” Standing up again, Bob heads back to the door, pushing the thought of Bert aside, then stops as his mom speaks again.

“The death of someone young is always hardest to take, the sort of thing that stays with you. There was another story when I was at the school, drama club Doris.” Bob freezes in place, a shiver of the hairs on the back of his neck making him stay still, freezing him as surely as the sound of the Wolf's howl. “That one was always hard to take, apparently this girl died whilst doing a play in the drama hall. It was before my time, but there was this one play, the same one she died doing, every time they thought about doing it again something would go wrong during the planning stages, so everyone figures it is cursed.”

He can feel the casualness of his mom's tone, that soft layer of consideration and sympathy tempered by humour at the superstition. “Of course, it wasn't a very good play either and I think the drama students just didn't want to do it so kept finding ways to break stuff until something else was picked. It's silly the way these things start; of course, when it comes to the football team...”

Snorting with laughter, Bob nods and turns around again, taking in the small smile on his mom's face. “You never know when these things are real and when they're bullshit.”

“Language.”

“Sorry.”

“Try not to think about it too much love, these things...” Sighing, she rises to her feet again and reaches for her brush. “But if you ever want to talk about Bert, we're always here, you know that.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

With a nod she returns to her work as he leaves, a small glow of triumph in his chest as he reaches for his phone and thumbs out a quick text to Mikey. They have a name.

Now they just need to figure out what is keeping Doris here, before she starts bugging Frank again.

*************************************************

“You're kidding.” Frank looks up from the mess of papers spread over the coffee table and pulls his leg up to press against his chest, wrapping his arms around it. The cushion under his ass is keeping the floor relatively comfy and besides, the sofa is full enough as it is with Mikey and Ray squeezed in with Gerard perched on the arm beside his brother. Bob of course gets the armchair, mostly because it's Bob's house but also just because, well, it's Bob. It is only Tuesday, the week dragging by, but at least Frank's day at school has gone much better with the itch mostly faded now. Mostly. It still hurts when he moves sometimes but the goo is helping, even if he is getting funny looks in the corridor over the smell.

It also doesn't mean his ghost troubles are over, hence the way they have all traipsed over to Bob's house to compare notes about Frank's mysterious schoolgirl as Mikey and Bob reckon they've found her. Frank just wishes it was better news.

“Seriously though, something that stupid killed her? It's a joke, right?”

“Wish it was,” Bob admits, flipping the copy from the old school yearbook that Mikey got from the library onto the table. “Doris Johnson. She choked on a grape backstage in the interval for some play she was in. Understudy took her place for the second act, teachers just said she was ill as they didn't want to spoil the show, they didn't tell anyone until afterwards.”

“That's... That's a little sick,” Frank says softly, looking at the yearbook photo. It's definitely his ghost, the girl smiling back at him from the page with a black border around her shot. She looks just the same. “She was sixteen, damn.”

“Yeah.” Bob leans back in the chair and shakes his head. “But it does explain why she went all up close and personal on you by the drama hall, that must be where she's tied in, something in there is keeping her here.”

“So we find what it is, do the cleansing spell or whatever, and she goes free?”

“That's the theory,” Ray says, looking through Bob's family journals again. “She does seem pretty harmless though, are we sure we need to-”

“She's fucking with my classmate's head, at least, I think she is. Marie's been much better since she moved desks, but that's just one class, how many others has Doris has been messing with? She might not mean to, but she's hurting the living and that means I gotta stop her.” Frank looks up at the silence, three of them regarding him with open curiosity whilst Gerard looks... odd. “What?”

“Marie?” Ray asks with a smile.

“Oh shut up, she's a classmate, she's helping me get through Math as none of you fuckers are any good at it. And before you start getting your jealous on Way,” Frank adds, pointing a finger at Gerard, “she knows I'm gay, _and_ she knows I have a boyfriend, and if you must know, her and Nick have been getting along quite well thanks.”

Gerard grins bashfully, but doesn't quite meet Frank's gaze. “Like that would stop her wanting you.”

Dropping the pages, Frank shuffles across the carpet to kneel by Gerard's feet, looking up at him and resting his chin on Gerard's thigh. “It might not stop her, but it sure as Hell would stop me, and that's all that matters.”

“Oh gross,” Bob mutters as Frank rises up as high as he can even as Gerard leans down to meet him for a kiss. “Guys, seriously, we had a deal.”

Gerard flips him off from behind Frank's back but they stop, Gerard's grin decidedly soppy even as Frank twists to sit down again. This time though his back is resting partly against the sofa and partly against Gerard's shin, the warmth of their bodies pressing together soothing in the slight draught from under the door washing over Frank's legs.

“Whatever Bryar, you're just jealous.” Looking through the papers again, Frank considers. “So, assuming we can figure out what it is she's obsessed with, we're gonna need to get into the school when it's quiet, after dark ideally. I need to get William there too, and I'm gonna need help with that whole herbal thing again.”

“I'll help you with that,” Mikey offers quickly, “we can mix some up after school tomorrow. I've got a free period tomorrow too so I'll go check out the drama hall, we can also ask Urie to keep an eye out for signs of her anchor if we need to.”

“That skinny little runt? Really?”

Mikey shrugs. “He may not be the most discreet dude in the world, but he knows the nooks and crannies and gossip of that school like no one else. Trust me, if there's a dark corner, sad story, or useful makeout place he knows it.”

“He's what, twelve? Okay, permission to go eww?” Bob says gruffly, half holding up his hand.

“Granted,” Gerard and Ray echo at once, holding their hands up too.

Ignoring them, Mikey shifts his attention just to Frank. “But hopefully I will find it myself.”

“Awesome, so then we just need to break back into the school after hours, perform an exorcism, not get caught or set fire to the school, and presumably carry me back out of there 'cause I've got a funny feeling this isn't gonna be as easy as just chanting and burning incense.”

“Yeah, but like you said, she isn't really interacting or anything, she should just go quietly. Right?” Mikey asks, looking round.

“In theory,” Ray agrees. “If she is just a recording rather than a full ghost, and if we can find the anchor, and if Frank can perform the ritual properly then yeah, should all be pretty straightforward.”

Swallowing hard, Frank stares at the photo again, nodding once. “That's a shitload more ifs than I wanted but okay, let's do this. There's a football game Friday night, we're gonna get trounced as always so there shouldn't be a crowd or anything, but the school will be open so we should be able to sneak in then. That gives us two days to figure this out and practice; if we can't get it sorted by then we have to wait for the next distraction and the way our team plays that may be a while.” 

Shrugging, Frank runs a hand through his hair, then stills as Gerard's fingers take over, sliding through his hair slowly and relieving some of the tension before it can take hold. Twisting back into the touch, Frank takes a deep breath. “Okay, so, let's assume this Friday is the day and go over the ritual itself again.”

Closing his eyes, he leans back against Gerard as Ray starts to read aloud, and tries to focus.

***************************************

It takes Mikey every free lesson and break, and enlisting the help of the rest of the lunchtime gang, to find the anchor. It's not that hard to get their help really; explaining it away as a research project for History does the trick. It's not like any of the others actually take that class with him and by the time they are in a position to figure out it's a load of crap they will have forgotten anyway.

Besides, he's a Way; the reputation for being weird can sometimes be a blessing.

Still, it's nearly Friday afternoon by the time Nick finds it, spotting it on the way back from a guitar practice, and sending Mikey a quick text to let him know. Mikey skips his last class and heads over to the drama hall, dodging the lessons going on, a mixture of over the top pronunciation and half mumbled boredom echoing out into the hallway.

It's just as Nick said, a wall of photos and flyers from old plays covering the wall, and Mikey kicks himself for not finding it sooner. Still, nowadays they do it all on the school website and this corridor is tucked away by the girls' bathroom so seriously, it's not like any of them have been hanging out here long enough to spot it.

Actually, considering how tucked away it is, Mikey isn't entirely sure how Nick found it. Then again, the corridor is dark and tucked away and, as Brendon would put it, discrete, so perhaps it's not such a big mystery really. 

But it's there alright, the girl just as Frank described, and there's a little plaque at the bottom of the frame marking her death. It's got to be it. Mikey takes a good look at the frame, checking out how it's screwed into the wall, wondering how hard it would be to get down, and takes a couple of quick photos but as the classes start to empty out and he gets a curious look from a girl heading to the bathroom, he heads off. I

t takes him a couple of minutes to text around the others, and the rest of the day to get their replies, but by the time he meets Frank at the front gate to head home, he has their answers.

“So? What's the verdict?” Frank asks at last, his eyes slightly shadowed with tiredness but alert and watchful as Mikey slides his phone back into his pocket.

“We've found it, Gee been looking at the montage and checking out the play and he's sure we've got the anchor. We've got all the supplies we need, and the design for the mark is ready. We're good to go. It's your call though, you still want to do this tonight?”

Glancing round at the departing students, the muted sounds of the preparation for the football game coming from the field, Frank takes a deep breath, then grins. “Fuck it, let's do it.”

**************************************

“Maybe this isn't such a good idea,” Gerard mutters as they creep into the empty drama hall that night, pulling the curtains tight before turning on their torches. “I mean, maybe you should practice more before, y'know-”

“Messing with the undead?” 

“Yeah.” Taking a deep breath, Gerard looks around the empty hall and shakes his head. “This is creepy. Is she here yet?”

Frank looks round, turning with his torch and looking into the corners of the room just in case, but knowing in his heart they are alone so far. “Not yet. We should get set up, I dunno how long she will linger for if I even manage to get her here.”

“Any sign of William yet?”

“I'm holding off actually _calling_ calling him until we're ready but yeah, he's around.” Smiling slightly, Frank drops to sit cross legged on the wooden floor and opens his bag as the others come in. Mikey has his own bag of supplies in his arms whilt Bob and Ray carry a heavy photo frame between them. Frank prefers not to think about how big a hole in the wall they left getting it down, but it has to be at the centre of the spell for this to work and solid walls don't help with that.

“You sure this is the anchor Way, 'cause I am not ripping any more shit off the wall for you,” Bob grunts as they place the frame with its thick glass gently on the floor. Helping them lay it flat, Frank runs his fingertips over the glass, slight smears of dust coming off on his hand. He's seen Mikey's pictures and heard Gerard's best guess as to the anchor but this is something else. This is definitely it.

Frank can feel it, a faint tingle, and blows out a breath to relax himself as he traces over the plastic rose squashed in the centre of the montage. There are photos from the performances and dress rehearsals, and his ghost is there, smiling back at him in full costume and holding the rose.

“This is it.”

“Knew it,” Gerard grins, “according to the story I found online, she was in her dressing room, right, ready for act two. Well, in the first scene of act two she was supposed to enter holding this rose. So, that's what she was thinking of, when she died, she was running her lines and holding that rose and that's what's anchoring her here. I mean, it makes sense really, objects picking up psychic impressions like big sponges. That's how come Ray gets on better with some balls than others, or the power of a really old set of tarot cards over a brand new deck...” 

Frank casts a quick look at Mikey as Gerard continues to ramble on to himself and he gets his things ready, then shrugs. As one they reach out and gently flip the frame over, spreading one of Gerard's painting sheets out on the ground to cushion the glass. It takes a few minutes for them to unscrew the back of the frame and release the board but eventually they manage to pull out the stiff card holding the montage and untwist the wire holding the rose in place. As Bob and Ray carefully use the sheet to pull the frame and glass out of the way, Frank holds the stem of the rose between his fingers and regards it. It's such a simple thing, just cheap plastic, and slightly strange to the touch, almost damp, but so boring and ordinary.

He can feel it though, the impression of her fingers on the stem, the firmness of her grip and concentration. There's no denying that this is it, and as symbolism goes it's sweet really, kindof appropriate.

Also creepy as fuck, but what part of this isn't?

Staying sat where he is, Frank doesn't react as Mikey and Gerard begin drawing on the floor with chalk, marking out a similar circle to the one they had used on his room only more intricate. They'd decided against salt due to the intricacy of the design needed, but again the journal had turned up a useful spell to sanctify chalk instead. It was also a lot lighter than lugging round several cans of salt – not to mention cheaper on such a big symbol.

If Frank could have floated up and seen it from above he would have half recognised it, elements of it familiar to him from horror and fantasy movies alike, especially the careful circle with a star inside. Except instead of having five points, the stereotypical pentagram, this one had eight; one large one each for his friends, a smaller one between each pair, and with Frank in the space at the centre.

“I thought it was always a five pointed star,” Frank points out, grinning over at Gerard as he finishes the star and starts adding in other details, strange symbols and images he's copying from his notebook.

“If you're working with demons and shit, or don't have enough Witches, sure, but this is white magic and we have our own mystic mojo going on.” Crouched on the floor, he gestures to the points of the star and shrugs. “It's more like a compass, showing her the way home. Four of us to watch over you as you complete the spell. But if it's just you on your own, stick to the circle, one pure ring. Like I keep telling you, the exact shape or words aren't always as important as the magic inside, the thoughts in your heart.”

“I thought thoughts were in your brain,” Frank snarks, but grins up at his boyfriend as he stands up straight again anyway.

“If they were in your brain then it wouldn't be magic, would it?” Winking, Gerard double checks his work, notebook in hand as he turns and regards the symbol, chalk dust getting into his hair as he pushes a hand back through it. Clicking off his torch, he motions to the others to do the same, Bob flicking his zippo on instead . “Okay, I think that's it. So, Frank sits in the middle with the anchor-”

“Check.”

“We each stand at a point of the star and light the candles...” With a shuffling of feet the four young men take their places surrounding Frank. Each holds a candle, its core pushed through a card circle to create a makeshift drip guard, and Bob lights his then uses it to light Mikey's, who passes it on.

“You know, I think I saw a porno that started like this once,” Frank jokes, his nervousness apparent even in the flickering candlelight, but he looks down at the rose anyway.

“We can save the gang bang for later, let's get the ghost laid first, okay?” Bob retorts, checking his positioning and stretching out his arms so his hands join with Gerard and Mikey's, the candles wrapped between their fingers. Opposite him, Ray does the same, his eyes closed already as he starts to concentrate.

“Everyone set?” Gerard asks unnecessarily then nods to Frank. “Time to call in William and get this show started before we all get third degree wax burns.”

“And not the good kind,” Bob agrees, a soft ripple of laughter going round the circle before they still again. “Let's get a wriggle on.”

With a deep breath and roll of his shoulders, Frank holds the rose between his fingertips, closes his eyes, and calls.

******************************************

Gerard's more nervous than he would care to admit as Bob begins to chant, the other three picking up and joining in as he sets up the rhythm. For all Gerard has tried to make Frank aware that the words don't matter, they are copying the chant straight out of one of Bob's books, and the words stick slightly in his mouth at first. After the first three repetitions though, it gets easier, their voices stronger as they start to feel the pattern. It's hypnotic, the beat of it drumming through them like a heartbeat, as Frank sits still, just staring through closed eyes at the rose.

It's nothing he can put his finger on, just a prickle of the hairs on the back of his neck, but it's enough to warn Gerard so he isn't surprised when Frank shifts, opening his eyes and looking at the blank space between Gerard and Bob.

“Bill. Is she coming?”

Frank doesn't speak, instead twisting to look over to his right, into the darkness of the hall past their circle of light. Smiling gently, Frank nods to something none of them can see, and holds out the rose.

The candles flicker as one, and Gerard can feel it, a chill through his fingers in spite of the warmth of the wax gathering above his joints. Bob's fingers tighten against his, and an answering shiver shakes the candle, making the light flicker more but they hold steady, continuing the chant. Frank shifts to stand, his legs a little shaky but holding him as he focuses on something – someone - in front of Gerard.

Frank's eyes flicker to the side again, as though seeking instruction, then he nods and takes a deep breath before holding the rose out further. A slight tremble to his fingers betrays his nerves, or maybe just the cold in the room. “For you.”

Gerard can't help holding his breath as the rose floats from Frank's fingers, a tightening of Frank's eyes betraying some sort of discomfort, but it fades quickly. It's all Gerard can do not to react though, to reach out to protect him, even knowing that to do so would break the circle and ruin their chances. Frank glances, presumably at William, again and frowns. “Really?”

They don't break the chant, but Frank picks up on something anyway, glancing at Mikey, and shrugs. “Apparently she wants to finish the play, there's this big solo scene at the end she was supposed to do. Bill reckons if we let her do that speech then she will be ready to go quietly.” Frank looks peaceful but Gerard can see his energy draining steadily like sand through a glass, trickling away the longer the spell lasts. 

And a whole speech sounds like a Hell of a long time to keep it going.

Still chanting, they glance at each other, unsure what to do, even Mikey unable to chant and _talk_ at the same time – not that it stops Gerard trying, watching him closely, willing him to say something, to make some decision. Gerard's fingers twitch, wanting to break the circle, to pull Frank out, but Bob's hand tightens, holding him in place. 

Frank takes the decision out of their hands by sitting down again, glancing up into thin air and grinning even though his movements are a little unsteady. The rose bobs in the air then the shiver runs through them again, worse for Mikey this time, as it passes over them and off into the darkness of the hall.

It seems to take forever, the candles burning lower, and Gerard can feel the rising tension in the air as the chanting gets quieter, conserving their voices. His arms hurt, the pressure of holding them outstretched building until all he can think about is being able to drop his hands to his side and wriggle his fingers. He can feel from the tensing and slight fidgeting from Bob that he feels the same, although Ray is still holding still and Mikey looks oddly peaceful, just staring at Frank as though reading him.

Then the silence breaks as Frank claps, the sound shockingly loud and making them falter in their chanting. Gerard can feel the exhaustion in Frank's body, the ache building through muscles and bones, and the fatigue is starting to make the shadows on his face darker in the candlelight. Frank stands up again, slumping a little, and glances at William again before motioning into the darkness, calling her back. As he does so, he pulls a bundle of the herbs from his pocket and twists them in his fingers nervously, his eyes meeting Gerard's for a second before darting away..

“Doris, you ready to move on?” Gerard fights back a shiver as the rose drifts back in front of them, the light making it appear darker than before. “Okay.” Frank glances straight at Gerard at last, his smile strained but strong enough as he nods. “Let's do this.”

Taking a deep breath, Frank joins in the chant, stuttering a little as he brings his hands up to flick the lighter, trying to get it to work. His fingers fumble it a little, not moving fast enough,but finally it is lit and he quickly touches the flame to the bundle, holding it up as it catches and letting the smoke drift over the rose. As they continue, the smoke starts to build up, like dust settling on a statue, outlining a figure in the shadows as they chant.

_“As the night follows the day, as the moon follows the sun,_  
As the river meets the sea, as the hourglass will run,  
Take this light and go in peace,  
Take our love and fill your heart,  
Take our faith to guide your way,  
Go without fear into the dark.” 

Frank was bitching about how sappy it is but they didn't exactly have time to rewrite it. Besides, it's working. Gerard can feel the tiredness between them, the exhaustion threatening Frank, but then suddenly he starts to glow, their circle binding together and drawing on the four of them, giving their energy to Frank and his keeps building until he is blinding to Gerard. The figure of the girl builds slowly too, the smoky form taking shape as they carry on speaking, but on Frank's third time the smoke suddenly builds rapidly, the rose vanishing from sight behind the solid looking form. 

With a final smile the figure of Doris Johnson looks up, her hands spreading to her sides before, with a slight flare, she vanishes. The rose drops to the floor as the smoke suddenly fades and Frank grins, his own energy a glorious halo of light overlaying the image of Frank Gerard's eyes can see.

With a soft sigh, it vanishes and Frank drops to the floor as though his strings have been cut. They move at last, Gerard pushing the candles at Bob and Ray and extricating himself to drop down beside him, running his hands over Frank's back and head.

“Frankie, fuck, Frankie, you did so good, that was amazing, you were so amazing.” He can feel the flickering of Frank's aura, his energy really low now, but still solid and light. He's not hurt just quite literally drained, exhausted, loose limbed, and barely conscious under Gerard's touch. Ray drops to his knees too, before stretching out on his back on the floor, laughing tiredly.

“Holy crap, that was- Did you _see_ her?”

“Yeah I did,” Bob gruffly says, blowing out the candles and wincing as he picks a couple of strands of stray wax out of the hairs on his hand. “Fucking actors, almost thought I was gonna lose it when she wanted to put on an entire play first. Just take the hint, take a bow, and fuck off next time.” Clicking the torches back on, he sets to work retrieving the rose from the floor and returning it to the picture frame. “Toro, stop lounging about and help me get this thing back on the wall. You too Mikey Way.”

Growling a complaint, Mikey nonetheless staggers his way over to the frame, taking the rose off of Bob and setting to work putting it back into place. “Is Frank okay?” Ray asks as he rolls over, clambering to his hands and knees to get up. 

“Just wiped out,” Gerard reassures them, stroking his hand through Frank's hair before shifting his limbs to make him a little more comfortable, ignoring the grumpy whine Frank makes at the motion.

“Good.” Bob huffs as he holds the frame upright for Mikey to test the back is on tight enough. “You get to work clearing up the circle, looks like chalk isn't self cleaning like salt is. Leave him to rest whilst we get sorted then we can help him back out to the car.”

“His mom is gonna kill us,” Ray mutters, dragging his way over to the frame and helping Bob lift it up.

“She'll understand,” Gerard says, accepting the sheet back from Mikey and using it to wipe up the chalk. “This is his calling after all. And it was hers once, she will remember what it's like.”

Frank rolls over slightly in his doze and smiles weakly. “Don't fucking count on it.”

*************************************

It takes three of them to half carry, half guide Frank to the car, their own exhaustion building now as though they have been drained too. Ray can feel his mind straying into the space between awake and asleep, the dreams and visions lurking at the corners of his eyes once again, and he can't help shuddering in anticipation. He dreams every time he sleeps, but he can feel that tonight it's going to be worse, it's going to be one of _those_ dreams. The ones he still hasn't managed to tell any of the others about.

He stumbles as they reach the car, Mikey steadying him quickly to stop him from dropping Frank in return, an odd huddle of arms forming as they try to pour Frank into the car before the Ways tumble in alongside him. Bob is driving, his eyes heavy but sure as he starts the engine, the windows rolled down to let the frigid air try to keep them all awake.

By unspoken agreement, Bob drops Gerard and Frank off at Frank's house, then Mikey, and finally pulls up at Ray's place. Ray is not really paying attention and has to be told three times he's home, his eyes filled with shadows of a future that might or might not happen.

“Ray! You okay man?”

Nodding slowly, Ray keeps staring out the window at nothing then shakes his head, deflating visibly in the passenger seat. “Not sleeping. Well, not not sleeping, but-”

“I know what you mean.” Reaching out, Bob rests a hand on the back of Ray's neck, warmth and reassurance offered and accepted in equal measure. “You want me to come in?”

“Thanks, but I... I can keep going, it will pass soon enough.”

“Don't make yourself sick, if you need one of us to sit with you, there's no shame in that, we've all been there. And you know Gee will help you get a dreamless night if you need it, you just have to ask, so don't be stubborn.”

Ray can feel the prickle of tears but blinks them back, not sure why he is so unbelievably exhausted. “I know. I won't. I just... Not tonight, but thanks. For the offer.”

“Anytime, you know that. Not like I don't babysit dudes with serious magic management issues every month anyway.”

Snorting, Ray smiles and tilts his head back against Bob's hand, squinting as Bob ruffles his hair in retaliation. “Fair enough. I'll see how I go tonight and let you know. Thank fuck it's the weekend, right?”

“For some anyway.” Letting go, Bob reaches over to open the passenger door, pushing it with his fingertips then undoing Ray's seatbelt. “Go on, sleep, pass out for a day or two, sounds like you need it.”

Nodding obediently, it takes all Ray's concentration to make it up the steps and into his house, fumbling his key three times as though drunk, before making it inside. Kicking off his shoes and coat he manages to kick off his jeans before collapsing into bed still half dressed. A minute later he's snoring, dead to the world.

But not to his dreams.

************************************

It's only half nine by the time Gerard manages to get Frank inside his house but his mom doesn't take it as well as Gerard had hoped. On the plus side, Gerard heals quickly and has a thick skin, and anyway most of her anger goes onto a low simmer as she focuses on getting Frank safely to bed. Gerard would feel like a coward for slipping out as soon as he can, but the tired grin and wave he gets from Frank acts as permission enough.

The air is cold as he walks home, carefully cutting through the park and trying to resist the lure of the cemetery gates. It would be beyond stupid to do that tonight, with his energy so low and his magic so raw and near the surface.

He can't help glancing over though, and stops mid step at the sight of something flickering on the path beside him. His first thought is that it's maybe a firefly, but it's too insubstantial for that. Stretching out a hand, the flicker seems to play over his fingers before resting in his palm. It's warm, not really registering on his senses but somehow giving off heat and a feeling of strength and peace.

“William?” The light flickers as though nodding, and Gerard smiles. “Thanks for helping Frank out tonight.”

The light cannot speak and is already fading away, but as it flares out Gerard gets an impression of gratitude and hope that fills him and helps him stumble the rest of the way home and into bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Frank's done his first exorcism and the boys are tucked up safe in their beds, but will things carry on going so smoothly for Frank? Will Ray explain what he's been dreaming? Will Gee's family ever spot the new witch in their midst? Will Frank's mom ground him again? Will Bert be back? Will I ever get the next part finished and up on AO3?
> 
> The answer to the last part is at least spoiler free and yet also the least tangible. I will endeavour to write as fast as I can but will only start posting once it's complete so you may have a wait - just watch this space, and remember as always, comments are carrots that keep the plot bunnies bouncing!
> 
> Thanks for reading and I hope you're enjoying the tale so far!
> 
> Edit to add:  
> Okay, quick question - anyone able to yankpick for me? I have the next episode to a point where I would be happy starting to beta and look to posting BUT it would end on a cliffhanger which is evil and cruel and yet so tempting...
> 
> Anyway it would be fab to have a yankpick of the 'finished' sections whilst I work. Anyone free?  
> Cheers,  
> Jovi  
> 23rd July


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